


Amid the Powers and Chances of the World

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Canon - Non-canonical to good purpose, Canon - Outstanding AU/reinterpretation, Canon - Solves frequent reader complaint, Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - New interpretation, Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Unusual relationship(s), Characters - Well-handled emotions, Characters - Well-handled romance/eroticism, Fellowship of the Ring, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Fast moving, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - I reread often, Plot - Joy, Plot - Surprising reversals, Plot - Tear-jerker, Romance, Subjects - Animals, Subjects - Culture(s), Subjects - Explores obscure facts, Subjects - Medical/Healing, Subjects - Plants/Environment, War of the Ring, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Experimental, Writing - Good use of humor, Writing - Mythic/Poetic, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled dialogue, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2002-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 180,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Men..should have a virtue to shape their lives, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else" (Quenta Silmarillion, Chapter 1).  A mortal woman is brought to Rivendell for healing in the summer of 3018, and thus becomes entangled with both Men and Elves in the events of the War of the Ring.  How will destiny and choice shape the lives of the two Kindreds?</p><p>This novel-length story travels from Rohan via Rivendell to Gondor and back again, twining itself in and out of the canon events of <em>LoTR</em> as it goes. Gap-filling, drama, humour, a dash of angst and - eventually - romance between the OFC protagonist and a canon character (so don't say you weren't warned!)</p><p>Rated General rather than Adult, but should be considered PG-13 for, in later chapters, some fairly explicit descriptions of the aftermath of battle and for some (non-graphic) sexual content.</p><p>Thanks to the kind offices of Altariel, e-book versions are now available; .mobi <a href="http://db.tt/Ubxzcbi">here</a> and .epub <a href="http://db.tt/1Nh65vc">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Rivendell, Where Elves Yet Dwell

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

   
  
 _July 3019, Third Age, Minas Tirith_  
  
  
"He's still there, then?"  
  
Aragorn Elessar slid an arm around his Queen as he put aside his pipe and joined her at the window of their sitting-room in the White Tower. For once neither spared a glance for the riotously-blooming roses which filled the Citadel's gardens in midsummer; instead their eyes were fixed on the figure who was – to their eyes if not to most Mortals' – just visible among the foliage of a laurel tree, leaning back against its trunk, gazing southwards towards Anduin, Dol Amroth and the Sea.  
  
"He hasn't moved for hours," Arwen sighed. "Just like yesterday, and the day before that, sunk in misery, and I cannot break through to him – not in word nor thought; I have tried…"  
  
"He's convinced there's no help for any of it, and that the Powers have spoken," agreed Aragorn. "I've suggested he go to Dol Amroth, offered him horses, couriers to take a message to her, but he'll have none. And judging by the manner of her departure – riding out alone at first light with only a note left at her bedside! – nor will she…"  
  
"We were neither of us very foresighted, were we?" murmured Arwen, resting her head on his shoulder. "If I'd only seen how this would end when she was first brought to Imladris; just a year ago…"  
  
****  
  
 _June 3018, Third Age, Rivendell_  
  
It was mid-June, and high summer was upon Rivendell. The House of Elrond itself was almost deserted. At this time of year more than ever his folk were largely to be found out of doors, some cooling off by bathing in one of the deep pools below the falls of the Bruinen, others seeking elusive breezes in the topmost branches of the trees. One hot afternoon, Bilbo the hobbit was dozing in a quiet corner of the gardens; the sons of Elrond were lying in the shade of a beech-tree laying plots as to their next expedition after orcs; and Arwen Evenstar was sitting on the bridge which led to the house, dangling her bare feet in the cool of the water as she daydreamed. So it was that Arwen was first to hear the light steps which sped out of the woods. "Neldor - why such haste, in this heat?"  
  
"Lady Arwen, I must find your father - there are mortals come, with a lady ailing, craving his aid!" And with that the Elf sprang over the bridge, his dark hair flying in his wake, and was gone towards the house.  
  
Scrambling to her feet and untangling her skirts, Arwen was about to go after him when it occurred to her that the strangers would be approaching from behind her, down the valley. She turned instead and began to walk back the way Neldor had come, curiosity stirring. Mortals – and not Dúnedain from the Angle, by the sound of it, or Neldor would simply have said so… Well, that would stir Imladris from its summer torpor quickly enough.  
  
Sure enough, as she moved across the valley, she heard the excited murmurings in the trees around her - and then she saw them, with Elves escorting them over the slippery grass of the steep valley slopes; two Men on horseback, with a mule following behind. The horses, she noted automatically, were fine beasts; a chestnut and a grey, powerfully made, as though selected for stamina rather than for speed. That made some sense, for the mule bore large saddle-bags on both sides, seemingly provisioned for a long journey. And indeed a long and weary journey it looked to have been.  
  
The younger man was tall, and upright in the saddle. His mane of blond hair was darkened with sweat around his temples, and his shirt and breeches were also damp and dust-covered. Wary relief, Arwen saw at once, was written clear across his sunburnt, open features. His companion was, she thought, in the late middle-age of Men. His face was even browner, heavily lined in the way of elderly mortals who spent all their life outdoors, and his sparser hair was greying. Unlike the younger man, he spared little attention even for the curious Elves thronging around him; all his care was on his burden. Cradled in one arm, against his saddle-bow, he held the body of a woman.  
  
Arwen wasted no time in demanding whys or wherefores. She bid them a swift and kindly welcome to Rivendell, and urged them to follow her across the bridge. The horses passed slowly in single file, one of Elrond's folk leading each, and came at last to the House. There the Master of Rivendell, alerted by the fleet Neldor, stood at the top of the steps, gazing gravely into the heavy golden light of afternoon to welcome these most unexpected guests.  
  
The younger man dismounted swiftly, gladly gave over bridle and mount to one of the Elves who minded the stables, and moved at once to his elder companion's side.  
  
"Give her now to me, Dirgon, my friend," he urged. With great care, the other lowered the woman into his arms; and those standing around could see now that her eyes were closed and her face very pale. She was clad in breeches and shirt like a man's, and despite the heat of the day a cloak was wrapped around her shoulders as though her guardians feared she felt the cold. She neither stirred nor showed any signs of life as the blond rider stepped carefully forward with her. Addressing the figure standing silently on the steps, as though aware this was someone of authority, he spoke in a voice hoarsened by dust and thirst:  
  
"My lord, we seek one Elrond, called the Master of Rivendell."  
  
"And you have found him, my friend," Elrond responded in the Common Speech the rider had himself used. "Come quickly. Bring the lady within to a chamber where she may rest and be cared for. When you yourself are refreshed you can tell us who she is, and how you come to bring her to us…"  
  
For a moment the young man's shoulders trembled, and he closed his eyes. Then he squared himself again and mastered his voice.  
  
"I thank you most heartily, then, Master Elrond." And as Elrond turned on his heel, the rider bore his burden up the steps behind him. His companion also dismounted, but did not follow, seeming a little lost. One of the stable-hands spoke a word to him; at this he brightened, and the two set off across the courtyard leading both horses between them. The respectful quiet which had surrounded Elrond yielded to a sudden flurry of whispers and murmurings, which dipped momentarily as Arwen moved through the thronging elves – then rose to a new hubbub, as she swept up the stairs and hurried in pursuit of her father and his charges.  
  
Striding ahead of his guests down a passage-way which lay open on one side to the air, Elrond arrived at a doorway at the same moment as his housekeeper, who had quickly been summoned. She opened the door, listened attentively to another word from Elrond, and with a respectful nod was gone again, skirts swishing along the smooth marble floor. From behind her, a small dark-haired elleth darted through the doorway to straighten the bedsheets, and plump the unused pillows, before the guests were ushered in.  
  
The room was as light and airy as any in Rivendell. On this side of the House, a cooling breeze blew up from the Falls of Bruinen on the hottest of days, and the trees of the garden diffused the harsh midday light. The rider's eyes widened for a moment as he followed Elrond into the room, taking in the exquisite carving of the window-frames and the vaulted ceiling; but he strode to the bed and lowered the woman on to it, positioning her head carefully on the pillows, and bending over a moment to smooth her heavy dark hair from her forehead. Only then did he straighten his back with a deep sigh, and turn to face his host.  
  
"Be seated, my friend, while I examine the lady," Elrond commanded. The young man needed no second bidding, dropping into the cushions of the large wooden armchair which was indicated. The Half-Elven turned his attention to the woman, who lay still as stone upon the pillows. Swiftly placing hands on her forehead and her wrist, he found her breathing ragged, her pulse a distant whisper. And she was cold... on this hottest of days, there was a deep chill on her skin, beads of cold sweat standing out on her forehead, and her lips were blue.  
  
"How long has she been thus?"  
  
"Some eight weeks, my lord. Six of them while we journeyed here to you."  
  
"What do you know of her condition? Do you know the cause?"  
  
"I know when it began, my lord, but not truly how or why. It began with an accident, with a horse..."  
  
"She was stunned? An injury to the head?" Elrond's long and slender fingers moved very gently around and under the woman's skull, feeling expertly for damage.  
  
"Not that we could find, my lord. It is a long tale..."  
  
"Then I think I must hear it." The Master of Imladris was silent for a moment. "But even without it, I think a little can be done. Let us see..."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Elrond placed his palms across the woman's brow, concentrated a moment, and then steadily warmed her. Power went out from his fingers, flowing out against the cold that enveloped her. The only outward signs of it were Elrond's stillness, and the barely perceptible spread of blood into his patient's cheeks, gradual as the coming of sunrise. The Rider watched in silence, barely daring to breathe. Finally, Elrond tested the woman's progress, and ascertained that she breathed steadily, that her pulse was faint but regular, and that she was in no immediate danger of passing from them. There was time, then, to hear her companion's tale; but first he, too, must be cared for.  
  
"She will do well enough, for now." Elrond turned from the woman's bedside as his daughter slipped in through the doorway. "I have touched her sleep, and ensured it will be deep and restorative; for although she was far from waking, there was something in it which was agitated and fearful. But now she truly rests, and I can do no more for her until I know more of her trouble and how you, all three, came to have sought our aid. Come therefore, my friend," he extended a hand to the rider, "and take refreshment, that I may hear all your tale. The lady shall not be alone; I will have one of my people stay with her –"  
  
"I will watch over her, Father, if I may," Arwen broke in. "You can tell me later all I need to know of her journey. I will call you the moment I see any change in her."  
  
"Lady, you – you are most kind –" the young man flushed and stammered, "but you must not trouble –"  
  
"It is no trouble," Arwen soothed the flustered guest, who blushed even deeper. "I should like to stay with her. Go you with my father. Is there anything I should do for her?" She appealed to the master healer.  
  
"Have cool water brought, and bathe her face if she seems over-warm," her father replied. "But beyond that, she needs only a friendly presence, I think, for she will know it even in her deep sleep."  
  
"One more thing, my friend," Arwen turned another dazzling smile on the rider just as he was recovering his composure. "Will you tell me my patient's name?"  
  
"Rowanna, my lady," came the reply, as the young man was escorted by Elrond towards the door.  
  
"Rowanna..." Arwen echoed, as she drew up a chair beside the young woman's pillow, close to the window whose white drapes fluttered fitfully in the breeze, and her father closed the door gently on them both.  
  
***  
  
Elrond sat in a deep, cushioned chair with elaborately carved arms, fingertips lightly touching beneath his nose, watching his unexpected guest. When food and drink had arrived at the door of the audience chamber, the rider had suddenly awoken from the dreamlike state which the surroundings of Rivendell seemed to have induced in him, and asked after his older companion. Dirgon, he was assured, was taking a bite with the grooms, after rubbing down and tending to the three very weary beasts; and if he was not needed, was happy to remain and take his rest there for the time being. Elrond suspected that, being a man seemingly of few and painstaking words, this Dirgon was only too happy to let the fair-haired youngster muster explanations. For the arrival of three Mortals from the far South, one of them an unconscious woman, would take some explaining indeed…  
  
The rider was, at Elrond's urging, eating and drinking his fill, and a hearty fill it was. Here was a young man of stocky build, well-muscled, who plainly lived largely out of doors. And clearly, Elrond had deduced as he watched the young man's stride down the corridor, mostly on horseback at that. Tension and fatigue visibly drained from the rider as he slowly allowed himself to believe in his surroundings, feeling the restorative effects of the cold meats, the fruits, and the cool water of Rivendell's spring slipping down his dust-roughened throat. _Not only relief for the body,_ his host mused as he watched, _but for the mind. Here is one who has carried a great burden of responsibility, for so many days that he had forgotten how it feels to be without it. Now he lays it down, and slowly straightens up, and blinks in the sunlight._  
  
And indeed, the guest now stretched his long legs out before him, and his arms over his head, and heaved a great, gusty sigh of relief - then blushed ( _again!_ noted Elrond with amusement), as he recollected himself.  
  
"Your pardon, Master Elrond! And my most humble thanks. Almost had I forgotten how food and water taste that are not coated with the dust of the road..."  
  
"Then I am glad to have recalled them to you," his host responded, smiling. "Now then, my friend, you have much to recount to me, I think. Begin with your name – the lady's and your companion's I already know – and tell me how she arrived at this sad state, and how you have found the Last Homely House over so many weary miles. For you are come far from the South, I think?"  
  
"I am Béodred, and we have brought the Lady Rowanna nigh on two hundred leagues North to you, indeed, my lord. But how did you know?"  
  
"Although it is many years since I saw them last, I still know the gear and the mounts of the Riders of Rohan." Elrond smiled again at the startled expression which told him he hit his mark. "Those horses of yours are of Rohirric stock if ever I saw it, though bred for stamina rather than for racing."  
  
"My lord, we are indeed come from Rohan," the other acknowledged. "The Lady Rowanna is partner with my uncle in the breeding and training of horses for the court at Edoras, and for such other noble houses as need more mounts than they can train up themselves."  
  
"A rare thing, is it not, for a Mortal woman to be thus her own master and work alongside the menfolk?" Elrond arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Rowanna is no ordinary woman!" the Rohir agreed fervently.   
  
_Indeed?_ Elrond observed wryly. "And no Eorling, from her colouring." _For there is Dúnadan blood there, without question, in the lines of her face and in that dark hair._  
  
"Indeed no, my lord. And it is through her bloodline and kinship that we come to be here, to have known the way to you, and been sent to implore your help for her. For if I was told it aright, then though distantly indeed, the lady is kin to your house."  
  
One of Elrond's eyebrows rose just a fraction. "Go on…"  
  
"Master, the Lady's father, long dead, was of a noble house of Gondor. But her mother descends from the Rangers of the North, the Dúnedain as she tells me they were once called," – Elrond smiled to himself – "and I am charged to ask your help on account of her kinship. Her mother is Míranna, daughter of Rían; and through many generations she traces her ancestry back to one Elros, Peredhel."  
  
Both eyebrows shot up this time. The Master of Rivendell was positively startled. _Elros' own line! Through so many Mortal lifetimes? I had not thought that any that married into the southern Dúnedain would remember yet, nor trace it back so directly…_  
  
"Is she then indeed of your kin, my lord?" The young man looked anxious. "We have come so far..."  
  
"My friend, were she no more closely related to me than any child playing on the plains of Rohan, she should have all my aid and care," Elrond assured him. "But if the lady's mother is descended as she says, then we are indeed, very distantly, kin. Elros Peredhel, the Half-Elven, was my brother."  
  
"Your - _brother_ , my lord? But -"  
  
The sight of the young man's mental faculties grating like ill-matched cogs on a pair of millwheels, as he endeavoured to make sense of this calm statement, was so painfully comic that the corners of Elrond's mouth almost twitched. But he had had all too many millennia to practice courteous self-control. And a moment later Béodred worked it out.  
  
" _Oh_. Oh, of course. The immortality of the Elves. Forgive me, my lord. I – I am not used to such company…"  
  
"Do not trouble yourself, Béodred. But you have my assurance that the Lady Rowanna would indeed seem to be distantly my kinswoman; and as such she, and you, are doubly welcome beneath my roof. Tell me now though what has befallen her, and how you found us; for only thus can I begin to see what may be done for her."  
  
***  
  
Arwen sat very still in the cool, quiet sickroom, watching the rise and fall of the woman's breathing. Rowanna had not stirred since the blond Rider had laid her upon the bed; but thanks to Elrond's touch that icy chill which had lain upon her had been drawn off, at least for the moment. There was colour in her cheeks and the bruised, bluish tinge was gone from her lips. From time to time Arwen reached forward and carefully laid two fingers to her throat beneath her jawline; her pulse beat sure and strong, restored by Elrond from the ragged, faint murmur which had barely sustained her for so long.  
  
 _You are free of the darkness, for now, my friend,_ Arwen told her in her thoughts. _And yet you are still so very far away. What did this to you? What fear or horror drove you so far down into the depths of yourself? Come a little nearer the light; you are safe here…_  
  
Softly, wanting to reach out to the fearful, assaulted mind of the mortal woman who lay so close to her, and yet so unreachable, Arwen began to sing. She wove the gentlest threads of sound, working into them reassurance, friendship, tenderness:  
  
"When sky was clear and stars were keen,  
then Dairon with his fingers lean,  
as daylight melted into eve,  
a trembling music sweet would weave  
on flutes of silver, thin and clear  
for Lúthien, the maiden dear..."  
  
Slowly, the hot afternoon wore on; and as Arwen sang her own healing to Rowanna, elsewhere in the house Elrond listened intently to the Rider's tale of her fall.  
  
*******  
  
 **Author's notes:**  
  
The story's title comes from Chapter I of the _Silmarillion_ , Of the Beginning of Days: "Men..should have a virtue to shape their lives, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else".  
  
Individual chapters' titles are all lines or half-lines from songs or poems in _LoTR._  
  
Arwen's song is from the _Lay of Leithian_ (The Lay Recommenced, from _History of Middle-earth_ Book 3, The Lays of Beleriand ).


	2. Darkness Took Them, Horse and Horseman

"As I told you, my lord, it is some two months since my lady was struck down," Béodred continued, "and this how it befell. Word came one day to my uncle of a rogue horse running wild in the borderlands of Rohan; a black stallion. 'Tis rare these days to see such a one in our lands; for in recent times we have suffered many raids from the East, some say by foul creatures of Mordor. They steal our horses, but only the black ones..."

_Only black horses?_ That was highly suggestive, Elrond thought. The news that Mordor had grown so bold as to raid even into Rohan itself disturbed him considerably. He said nothing, however, only nodded for Béodred to go on.

"The folk of the few homesteads nearby had tried to catch the horse, but it was half-crazed, lashing out wildly at any who came near, and they had to give up. My uncle and Rowanna are well-known as some of the best tamers of horses in all Rohan, so we were asked to ride out to the marches and see whether we could get the beast under control. The people feared it might do great damage, or harm other horses. Of course if this one turned out to be a _mearh_ we would have little hope of capturing him, for only the royal house of Eorl can command those steeds. But the folk who told us of him said he did not look of _mearas_ stock , and since we had heard no word of any of those being taken by the East, it seemed worth the attempt. So we agreed to go..." He sighed, and ran a hand awkwardly through his mane of blond hair. "Would that we had not!"

"We rode out," he continued, "with several of our stable-hands – hefty lads, for we knew we would need strength as well as cunning if this beast was as wild as the account painted him. One of the local men met us and we recruited plenty more, thinking to cast a wide net around the horse first if we found him, and only afterwards draw it tight. We found him, well enough."

_Even in his distress_ , Elrond realised with a brief flash of amusement, _he holds his audience, and knows it, this one. Truly do they call the Rohirrim tellers of tales..._

"A local boy on a pony who had been scouting ahead found us while we were still mustering, and pointed us in the right direction. The horse had turned up near one of the streams of the Entwash. That helped us, as it turned out, for the creature was nervous of the water; unwilling to plunge in even to escape us. So we spread out our line and very slowly ringed him around. The closer we got, the less I liked the look of him." Béodred shook his head. "I swear I never saw such a beast. Great red eyes rolling back in his head, stamping and sweating and foaming at the mouth..."

_A crazed black horse, roaming the eastern borders of Rohan_ , thought Elrond. _Not hard to guess why the beast was half mad; but what does Sauron want with Rohan's horses?... Back to the business in hand,_ he chastised himself.

"How then came the lady to be injured? Did you restrain the horse?"

"My lord, we encircled him loosely, to avoid panicking him, and then Rowanna called to him. I know not how well you know the ways of the Eorlingas, but it is not our way to compel any horse or to take him by force with a rope if kindness will persuade him to work with us. And rare is the beast the lady Rowanna cannot persuade!"

"But this one would have none; I swear her voice made him wilder, plunging and whinnying. Finally, my uncle gave the order to move our mounts in around him, so he would have no space to kick and perhaps be calmed. If we must we'd get a rope on him. But we reckoned without our own poor beasts' opinion of him, and in a moment, all was gone awry. One of the locals' horses lost its nerve, faced with this demon-creature. Suddenly it reared and threw him, right into the midst of the ring. Any normal horse would have backed off, fearing to tread on a man downed, but I swear this black beast was about to trample him!"

Elrond could see it all, just as the Rider painted it. "Go on.."

"I tried to move my mare forward, urging her to stand over the fellow so we could give him some protection, and I could see others trying to do the same. But our horses would not move; they were terrified; they started to rear and kick too. Then before any of us could stop her, she had done it... Rowanna was off her horse and standing over the fallen man, facing that creature on foot and commanding it to leave him be!" The Rider closed his eyes.

_He is back there,_ Elrond realised, _watching frozen in the ring..._

"It reared up on its hind legs, screaming at her. Then suddenly she was down! - crumpled in a heap alongside the man she had tried to save. Our ring broke utterly then. The mad creature kicked out once more, charged a gap between two of us - and was gone."

"She was kicked in the head?" Elrond broke in sharply. "I found no trace of injury there, and you told of none..."

"That was the strangest thing of all, Master Elrond. Amid all those flailing hooves, no one saw her take anything more than a glancing blow to the shoulder. The Healers found bruising there, later, but that healed soon enough, and nothing was broken. But from the moment she fell in that dead faint, she never woke, and from that moment on she has been as you saw her."

"I begin to understand, I think," said Elrond quietly. He rose from his chair and began to pace slowly to and fro. His robe whispered in time with his pacing as it brushed the floor. Béodred swallowed audibly.

"Do...do you know what happened to her, Master Elrond? Can you heal her?..."

"I hope so, my friend." Elrond continued to pace. "But tell me, you brought her off the field. What then?"

Béodred reached for his goblet of spring water and drank deeply before he went on. The worst was now told, and he could deal swiftly with the plain facts that remained. The Eorlingas, well accustomed to examining for broken bones, had looked Rowanna over for fracture or head injury. Finding none, they had constructed a stretcher to sling between two steady horses and brought her slowly back to the farmstead where she and Béodred's uncle worked. Two days later, when she still had not moved or awakened, she had been carried in a litter to her mother's house at Edoras.

"There the Healers attended her," Béodred explained, "and they, too, said there was no damage to her head nor broken bones. They did what they could, but in truth I think they were baffled. Our ailments are of the body; we are thrown from horses, break bones, tear muscles. This was a thing unknown to our physic."

Days, then weeks, had gone by with little change. Rowanna remained in her strange deep faint, her pulse barely detectable, always cold no matter how warm the room. Her mother had sat by her, consulted every Healer in Rohan, and endlessly scoured her few precious books of Gondorrim and Dúnadan lore, looking for any account of such a sickness. Finally, she had conceived a desperate plan.

"The Lady Míranna sent for me one day to her house in Edoras, and I went at once, thinking there might be some change," Béodred went on. "But that was not why she had summoned me." His eyes wandered around the room as he spoke, taking in the flowing carving of window and door frames, the sunlight dancing on drapery and panelling, before coming to rest again on Elrond's grave face.

"Míranna spoke of the traditions of her northern kindred," he went on. "Rowanna's mother was born in Gondor, and her grandmother too; but their bloodline comes of the North, as I told you, and her kin guard their lore and legends fiercely. Míranna spoke of a refuge of the Elder Kindred to the North, a sanctuary of Elven healing, called Rivendell." Elrond nodded. "She remembered tales from her childhood of where it lay, even found a map in one of her books. I confess, my lord," Béodred shifted in his chair, "that I doubted much whether such a place could still exist outside the old tales, much less be found. But so desperate was Míranna, with no other hope, that I agreed with old Dirgon's help to make the attempt. I was never more glad in my life than when we came over the last rise this afternoon and found the stories true!"

"Two things I should like to know," said Elrond softly. "Firstly, what happened, in the end, to the horse?"  
  
"The black fiend? We'd have no more to do with him, my lord. The local people sent for a bowman a few days later, a keen enough shot to put an arrow through his eye from a good distance." Béodred shook his head sadly. "Shooting a horse which was perfectly sound! Well," he corrected himself, "sound in body, at any rate... 'Twas all a bad business!... You had a second question, Master Elrond?"

"Indeed. The man downed? The one the Lady Rowanna tried to save?"

Elrond almost wished he had not asked, for the young man winced. "That last kick the black beast gave before it broke our ring - it took him in the head. Broke his skull. He was dead before we reached him."

_And so Míranna trusted her unconscious daughter to the care of two Men for all those weary miles,_ mused Elrond, seating himself once again opposite Béodred. _That says much for her opinion of these two, and not a little for her desperation! Dirgon is an old and trusted servant, I think, and would guard Rowanna as though she were his own daughter. As for Béodred, clearly chivalry and honour are as sacred to the Rohirrim as ever they were. Would he be more than a protector to her, though, I wonder, if he could?_

Béodred was recounting something of their journey. "We left Edoras under cover of darkness..."

"In secret?" Elrond demanded. "Why?"

Béodred shook his head sorrowfully at that. "Rohan is...not at ease, in these days, Master Elrond." He frowned and got up to pace the room in his turn.

_Seeking the words to describe ways of dealing which are strange to him?_ Elrond wondered.

"There are rumours that dark things rise again in the East. Men say the court at Edoras is grown nervous, suspicious, and that the King is counselled against all strangers. There is no quarrel with the People of Mundburg like Rowanna and her mother, thank Béma, not yet! But no subject of King Théoden goes out from Rohan without the leave of the chief counsellor, one Gríma. If it had been noised abroad that we rode North to seek a land of Elves..." He shook his head.

_This I like as little as the news that Mordor raids Rohan's borders!_ Elrond reflected, as Béodred briefly told of their slow and painstaking journey, through the Gap of Rohan and then northwards along the western flanks of the Misty Mountains. _But let Rohan's troubles pass, for now..._

 "Those are wild and barren lands you travelled through," he commented. "It was no mean feat, to bring the lady through them safely…"

"We had to be cautious passing through Dunland," admitted Béodred, "for the Dunlendings are no great friends of the Eorlingas; but Dirgon knew the lie of the land, and took us by paths far from their settlements, and in part we travelled at night. Once we forded the Glanduin and got beyond Dunland's northern border, though, we passed into a drear and empty land – "

"Eregion," nodded Elrond –

 "– and there we made sure instead to journey by day, keeping close watch at night, for Dirgon had heard rumours that in those Northern lands wander trolls, and other foul things which cannot abide the light of day…"

"And so all these weeks later you have reached us," Elrond concluded, smiling at the weary Rider. "A more than worthy feat, my friend, with such a precious burden. I thank you as her kinsman, too, for daring the attempt, and for all your care of the lady. Now, I imagine you are in need of rest, and perhaps a good deep bath would be welcome before dinner? We dine after sundown in summer, when the air is cooler. Come..." With a guiding hand on the Rider's shoulder, he ushered Béodred into the care of his steward to be bathed and lodged. Then the Master of Rivendell stepped out on to a balcony overlooking the Falls, glinting gold now in the setting sun, and paced up and down once more, deep in thought.

***

Meanwhile, a band of sunlight had slowly rippled its way across the ceiling of the quiet room where Rowanna lay, and now intense red-gold beams lit up the white wall behind her bed. Arwen looked up from her vigil to see a sleek, dark head slide around the doorframe.

"So this is where you're hiding, Arwen. The rumours are true? We've got a mortal woman among us?" The figure in the doorway arched one black eyebrow. "We could do with the excitement..." As Arwen glared at him, he padded into the room, attempting, unsuccessfully, to look penitent. "Peace, Sister. I jest. How fares the lady?"

"She is far from us, Elrohir." Mollified, Arwen made room for him at the head of the bed. "She was brought in barely breathing, and so cold... Father steadied her and warmed her a little, but he can do no more until he knows how she came to this pass. He is with the young Mortal who brought her - a Rohir, I think..."

"Rohir?" Elrohir chuckled softly. "That accounts for it. The rumour-mill was grinding furiously on the subject of a straw-headed giant from the South. Too few of Father's people have travelled beyond this valley for many a year, if you ask me!" He cast an appraising eye over his sister's charge. "That would almost look like a natural sleep, if I knew no better. Father loses none of his touch! I shall leave her in your more than capable hands, Sister... you've not seen Elladan?" Arwen shook her head, not taking her eyes from the woman in the bed. "Ah, well, then I'd better catch up with him." He wandered out as soundlessly as he had come, and only after he had drawn the door gently to behind him did Arwen hear the faint sound of whistling from the corridor.

*******


	3. With Weary Feet

Gritting her teeth, Rowanna forced her aching legs the last few steps along the passageway which ran the length of the Last Homely House. As she sank into the window-alcove she had been aiming for, letting her breath out in a long ragged groan, she fought to keep tears of exhausted frustration from breaking forth. _Don't be so feeble-minded!_ she chastised herself. _Last week you were still being carried everywhere, and having always to presume on one of the sons of Elrond or on Béodred to bear you like a babe in arms! At least you are on your feet..._

Regaining her strength was proving to be a lengthy business, she acknowledged with a grimace. Although she was walking unaided now, she did so slowly, and with frequent stops to rest her often shaking legs. She wondered miserably how she had ever taken for granted her old boundless energy and tireless limbs.

As they breakfasted that morning, Arwen had suggested another venture into the garden.

"It's going to be warm, so we could sit outside," she had suggested, "or shall we walk down towards the bridge?"

"Thank you, Arwen, but I thought I might try to walk about the house a little. Please don't trouble for me - I know you have much to do, and I would only delay you if you had to keep to my snail's pace!" Rowanna had replied, feeling she could not continually claim the Evenstar's attention now that she realised how much of the running of Elrond's household fell to his daughter. _If I ever get my old strength back, I shall be delighted to make myself useful, somehow or other. For now I am nothing but a burden..._

Elladan and Elrohir had ridden out of the valley three days earlier, bound north-westwards, intending to join up with a Ranger patrol across Rhudaur - _wherever that is,_ Rowanna had muttered to herself. _I am utterly astray with the names and the lie of these northern lands!_ Watching them mount up before the house, vaulting on to the backs of their restive pair of beautifully matched greys, she had felt an intense stab of jealousy. They were so much at one with their beasts that she could sense just by looking at the twins what those horses felt like under their riders, and she wondered with an ache in her chest how long it might be before she would sit in a saddle again with that ease.

"By the time we return I shall expect to see you galloping up the valley, _rohíril_!" Elrohir had called, as though he read her thoughts, as he wheeled his mount about. "Farewell!"

_Chance would be a fine thing,_ Rowanna had groused inwardly. She had uncharitably wished the pair would hurry and depart, so that she might not have to stand and pain herself with the sight of them. Now, however, she found she missed Elladan's gentle consideration, and even Elrohir's drawling, ironic teasing.

Taking a deep breath and pushing up with one hand from the elegant marble curve of the window-frame, she stood again, wincing at the protests from her thigh muscles, and continued to walk slowly down the hallway. _At least at this pace I have plenty of time to appreciate the architecture!_ she observed wryly, gazing about her at the exquisite carving of the lintels and window-frames she passed, which wreathed into elaborate, coiling tendrils of foliage, birds and animals often nestling between. She stopped and smiled at a roundel window encircled by twining leaves, with tiny fieldmice peeping from among them. _The finest halls of Edoras, even Theoden King's, have nothing to match this! I never saw a house where such enrichment seemed not for show, nor display of wealth, but for the sheer joy of creating beautiful things. I suppose, if you are immortal, there is all the time in the world to learn such skills, and take pleasure in deploying them..._

In her mother's tales, the immortality of the Elves had been accepted with little question as a keystone of the legends, the mark of the Firstborn and fairest, setting them apart from Men. Only in Rivendell had it begun to dawn on Rowanna how deeply the absence of aging and death must shape life itself for the Elder Kindred. She had hesitantly asked Elladan one day how old he and his twin were, and his laughing answer had left her reeling. To have seen the passing of two score mortal lifetimes, and more, and yet see the seasons come round again and again unchanging, was beyond imagining. _How petty must the doings and dyings of Men seem, to such as you?_

Rounding a corner now, she came upon a handful of Elrond's folk, draped elegantly over the ledges and niches of a small balcony which opened out from the passageway, laughing and talking in their lilting, incomprehensible tongue.

"G-good morning," she greeted them hesitantly, unsure as ever how much of the Common Speech they understood. One or two smiled and said something quick and fluid, and one lovely dark-haired Elf-woman who nursed a small harp in her lap raised a languid hand in greeting, and they turned back to their conversation. _So it goes always,_ Rowanna thought with an inward sigh as she turned to limp on her way. _You are merry and you laugh, and none of you is ever unkind, and yet..._

The previous day she had been struggling with one hand to push a heavy door open to pass through, needing her other hand to steady herself against the wall, when a light, laughing voice had offered assistance, and a deft Elven arm had reached around her to swing the door wide. She had turned to offer thanks, and for an instant had frozen at what she saw; for in the serene depths of the other's grey eyes she thought she read both distaste and pity. _Oh yes, you are kind to this woman with the hobbling gait and the gaunt frame,_ she thought bitterly. _I would be as carelessly kind to a trapped and broken butterfly I released through an open window!_

_If Béodred were here..._ The treacherous thought slid into her mind unbidden, as she continued to work her way stiffly along the hallway, and she turned on it even as it formed. _Oh, a fine one you are! You made him leave against his will because he stifled you and would not let you try your strength, and now you find that strength lacking, you want him back again to lean on!_ She had stood on the steps, despite his protests that she should not tire herself, as the party bound for Lórien made ready to depart two days after she had confronted the horse-lord. They had even managed a comradely clasp of arms, for Béodred's granite pride would not allow him to flinch in public as she touched him. _He pretended you had not stabbed him to the heart - or in the back? - and you feigned not to notice the bleeding wound... Well, you made that bed for yourself, and in it you must lie._

The thought of lying down made her realise how weary she was, and she began to cast around for somewhere to sit again. Few doors seemed to be locked in the Last Homely House, and the Elves appeared to wander in and out of each other's quarters freely and easily, but Rowanna preferred to seek out the more obviously public spaces. Though the first and second doors she passed stood ajar, and she glanced hesitantly through, the chambers beyond looked as though they might be someone's study or sitting-room. Through the third doorway she came to, she glimpsed a long room with tables and deep, cushioned wooden chairs. This seemed more promising, and she took the last few painful steps through the doorway, and sank gratefully onto the nearest seat.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she twisted slowly in the chair as she looked about her. The room she had entered was high-ceilinged, and she thought it must take up two floors of the House. Half-way up the wall, a sinuously curved railing ran around three sides of the room, guarding a walkway, which was reached by a small spiral staircase in one corner. The fourth side of the room was entirely taken up by tall windows, which Rowanna noticed to her surprise had glass in them, the first windows she had seen in Rivendell which were not open to the air. Scattered around the polished floor were richly dyed rugs, and on them stood several writing-desks as well as the tables and armchairs. Giving away the nature of the room, though, were the shelves which lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and the tall wooden cases which jutted out in several places, every one laden with leather-bound volumes.

Rowanna caught her breath. She had never seen so many books and scrolls together in her life. Her mother had been exceptional, in Rohan, for owning a few precious books, brought with her from Gondor, and for teaching her daughter her letters. The Rohirrim were a people of song and story, not of written chronicle, and only the ruling house and their counsellors and scribes were generally literate.

Getting to her feet again, her protesting muscles ignored in her excitement, she moved to the nearest table where several heavy volumes lay, the leather of their bindings darkened with age and their gilded lettering fading. _A whole library! I may not be able to walk abroad or ride, but at least I could read! I might learn something of Elrond's people, and Rivendell's history..._

Gingerly, she opened the first book before her, careful not to force its boards apart as she felt the resistance of the aging binding. She began gently to turn the stiff, yellow leaves of parchment, leafed further through the text, then stopped in dismay. She turned to the next volume on the table, and the next. Turning to the shelves behind her, she took down first one book, then another, and in the pages of each she made the same discovery. She had been prepared to find some, at least, of the writing in tongues she could not understand; in fact, she could not even tell whether she was looking at the Common Speech or not.

Every volume she opened was penned in a script she had never seen in her life, flowing in long curling strokes across the leaves from richly decorated capitals. Here and there a letter-form seemed half-familiar; but as soon as she thought she grasped it, the recognition would slide away, and all meaning in the elegant lettering eluded her. It was beautiful, alien, and utterly incomprehensible. Overcome with frustrated disappointment Rowanna sank into the nearest chair, shoved the heavy leather tomes angrily away across the tabletop, and laying her head down on her arms burst into tears.

*******

**Author's Note:**

I wasn't sure at first whether Rowanna, having been taught Gondorian letters by her mother, ought to be able to read the _tengwar_ of the Elves; but according to Appendix E of LoTR, the _tengwar_ evolved considerably over the millennia into a variety of scripts. Frodo, for example, despite being literate in the Common Speech and a certain amount of Elvish, both of which used forms of _tengwar_ , couldn't read the lettering on the One Ring, which Gandalf described as "Elvish, of an ancient mode". There seemed therefore to be enough evidence to let me assume, for artistic convenience, that at least some of the script in Elrond's library would be completely indecipherable to a Third Age mortal, even a literate one. (Elrond's library is another assumption; but he is described as a loremaster, and we know he has ancient maps and texts in his house, so a library seems likely...)  
  



	4. Half-Grown Hobbits, the Hole-Dwellers

Rowanna had no idea how long she sat sobbing with frustration. Suddenly, however, a voice broke in to her weeping.

"Good gracious! My dear lady - whatever is the matter? May I be of any assistance?"

Rowanna slowly raised her head from the heavy oak table. She had not seen anyone in the room, and realised too late that she had succumbed to a childish tantrum in the hearing of someone who must have been concealed from view between the bookcases. She blinked back the tears which blurred her eyes - then scrubbed more furiously at her face with the sleeve of her gown, convinced her vision must be deceiving her. The voice addressing her had the tone and pitch of a Man of late middle age, with an earthy solidity to the accent; yet the figure she saw through her swollen eyes, greying and a little stout, one hand in the pocket of its dark green waistcoat, stood no higher than the table. It - _he_ \- was barely three feet tall.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon; where are my manners?" Perceiving her astonished stare, the stranger bowed solemnly before her. "Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, madam, at your service and your family's," he announced a trifle portentously.

"R-Rowanna of Rohan, daughter of Míranna, at yours," Rowanna managed to stammer back, feeling that some response of the sort was required. She sniffed, and realised to her mortification that she had no linen to blow her nose. Fortunately, the little figure before her was better equipped, and proffered a large blue spotted handkerchief.

"Rohan, eh? You will pardon my saying so, madam, but you look like no lady of Rohan I ever heard tell of, for by everything I've read the Rohirrim are all as golden-haired as lions!" He hopped nimbly up on to a stool as he spoke, and Rowanna noticed that it was made with several rungs, to enable one of such short stature to climb up to sit at a height that suited the table. Misery driven out for the time being by curiosity, she replied with a shaky smile;

"And if you will pardon me, Master Baggins, you do not look like any Man I ever saw either! Who... I mean..." She could find no courteous way to phrase the question. Her companion rescued her.

"Or rather, _what_ am I?" His eyes twinkled. "I, dear lady, am a Hobbit. A Hobbit of the Shire! Or a halfling or _holbytla_ , as we are sometimes less courteously called in other lands. And if you have the leisure and the inclination to listen, I shall be delighted to tell you as much and probably more about the history and ways of my folk than you could ever wish to hear! But you have not answered my original question." His rather ruddy face, laughter-lines crinkling around the eyes, was all concern. "Will you not tell me what ails you? You sounded most dreadfully upset..."

Feeling distinctly foolish, Rowanna attempted to explain. It was difficult to put into words quite why the exquisite, indecipherable script had upset her so; oddly enough, however, the little Hobbit was quick with his sympathy.

"Oh, my goodness, yes! That's a very ancient form of _tengwar_ \- quite different from the Númenorean script of this age, however lettered you are. Took me years to learn it - that's Elves for you, of course, eternity to do everything, they never think of us lesser Mortals trying to master their crafts! There are texts here you could read, if you know the _tengwar_ of Gondor, but you'd need to know where to find them. I keep trying to persuade Elrond to let me re-organise things properly, but he says he always knows where to find what he wants - as he would, of course; he's had thousands of years to remember his way around the collection, with perfect Elvish memory to boot!"

"Have you dwelt in Rivendell long yourself?" Rowanna enquired. "You seem to know the library well..."

"Oh, a few years, a few years." Master Baggins looked wistful for a moment. "I decided to retire here from the Shire on my eleventy-first birthday, you know. Ah, I'm older than I look!" He smiled at Rowanna's surprise. "But no Mortal lifetime would ever be long enough to master all the lore in Elrond's library. Not that I haven't had a good try! - I'm researching for my own book as well, you see, and Elrond gave me a key to the library some time back, after the housekeeper grumbled about how often she had to open up for me. You were lucky I was here, or the door would have been firmly shut!"

"I've never found any door locked in Rivendell," Rowanna protested.

"Oh, that's true on the whole, but Master Elrond is terribly particular about his books!" the Hobbit countered. "Just as you would expect from a loremaster, after all. You noticed of course that the windows are glazed, to keep the weather out and let the light in? This room is even built directly above the kitchens, you know, so that the warmth from the stoves rises and helps to keep the damp out in the winter. But listen to me prattling on, instead of helping you to solve your difficulty." He looked Rowanna up and down with a beady eye. "I'll tell you what, Rowanna of Rohan; I will make a bargain with you. I have lived in the Last Homely House for some time, and made the lore and legends of the Elves my study for many years before that, and without taking a single volume off these shelves I could tell you more of the histories of the Firstborn than you could find for yourself here in a twelvemonth." His pride in this doubtless accurate statement was so obvious that Rowanna smiled despite herself.

"You spoke of a bargain, Master Baggins. In what coin could I repay you for such kindness?"

"Why, in the same coin, of course!" the Hobbit exclaimed excitedly. "I know little of the Rohirrim, my dear, or not nearly as much as I should like. And I will wager there is more to your lineage than first appears in any case, for if I were to trust the evidence of my own eyes I would say it was the blood of either Arnor or Gondor that flows in your veins rather than that of Eorl, and I should like to know more of that too; for there is nothing Hobbits enjoy so much as a good complicated genealogy!"

"If you are truly interested in how the daughter of a Gondorrim and a Dúnadaneth came to be born and brought up in the Riddermark and ended up as a horse-trainer to the court of Edoras, Master Baggins, then I can certainly give you fair exchange!" Rowanna laughed, feeling suddenly much happier than she had done for several days. "And you will truly teach me the histories of the Elves? And some of the Elvish tongue, so that I need not go about in Rivendell deaf and dumb?"

"Most truly!" The Hobbit beamed with delight. "It seems we have a bargain, then, dear lady. There is but one last condition to the pact; none of this 'Master Baggins' business. You make me feel as though I were tutoring my gardener's son Sam again back in the Shire! You must call me Bilbo."

***

The bargain Rowanna had made with Bilbo Baggins kept both of them busy for many days, and provided both instruction and entertainment. In the mornings, Rowanna would walk about the House, or around the gardens with Arwen, gradually regaining strength in her unpractised limbs. She had no wish to slacken this regime; in any case, Bilbo maintained he needed part of each day to work on his book, which she gathered was a history of his past adventures.

Following the midday meal, they would meet in the library. Seated at their preferred table under the windows, its age-darkened oak surface strewn with books and with Bilbo's endless sheaves of neat notes, several hours' hard work on Elvish history or on the Grey Tongue would ensue. Bilbo, Rowanna found, was a kindly but firm taskmaster, quick to correct her Sindarin pronunciation or phrasing, but equally swift to offer praise where it was due. He found the woman of Rohan an able pupil, and was delighted at how quickly she understood what she heard around her.

"It is not so surprising, when you think about it," Rowanna argued. "As soon as I could talk I had to come to grips with more than one tongue; Mother and I always used the Common Speech at home, but every time I stepped over the threshold I heard Rohirric all around me."

"I'm not denying you have an excellent ear, dear lady," Bilbo conceded. "Your grammar, on the other hand - ! Come along, let us try again, shall we?" and he fixed Rowanna with a stern gaze until she gave in and worked her way painstakingly through the day's lesson once more.

Not all their discussions were formal, however. "Read, mark, learn - and then inwardly digest, dear lady; that has always been my motto!" Master Baggins declared to an amused Rowanna.

Their afternoons, therefore, inevitably concluded cosily in the small parlour of Bilbo's rooms around the corner from the library. Here the two scholars would recover from their labours, aided by tea for Bilbo, a little sweet Elven wine for Rowanna, copious quantities of cakes and other dainties from Rivendell's kitchens, and endless tale-telling.

Rowanna found that Bilbo's professed fondness for genealogy had been no jest, and that he really did wish to know in every detail the descent of both her parents - in which she rather disappointed the Hobbit, having only hazy recollection of her father's kin in Minas Tirith.

"Though if as you say you never yet set foot in the White City, I suppose that is hardly surprising," Bilbo sighed. "Yet it is a pity. I know little of the noble houses of Gondor, and I should have liked to discover more of your father's descent. Still, your mother's lineage, now, that is fascinating. I wonder how far back her branch of Elros' line moved south and married into the nobility of Minas Tirith?" He sipped thoughtfully at his tea. "No matter. We might even find someone who knows, one of these days - I shall have to remember to ask the Dúnadan..."

Rowanna was puzzled by this cryptic utterance, but forebore from asking Bilbo about it, since the little Hobbit had made the remark almost to himself, and for a moment looked lost in thought. Instead she busied herself topping up the teapot as Bilbo had shown her, and the clinking of china roused him from his reverie.

"In any case," he added hastily, as though to cover up the fact that he had been caught daydreaming, "their two families made the match, you say; it was to the liking of both, I take it, and they were married in the White City - in what year, now?"

"If you want a date, I cannot give you one in Shire-reckoning, for I still cannot make head or tail of it!" Rowanna admitted a little shamefacedly. "But it was thirty-three years ago; for I know it was just three months after they were wed that Father took Mother north to Rohan, and he was in his third year of service in the Mark when I was born." She reached for another of the delicious, feather-light pastries filled with honey which the kitchens of Rivendell seemed able to produce at a moment's notice. Bilbo chuckled.

"They are good, those, are they not? I fear I've become quite shockingly portly since I came to Elrond's House. I don't get the exercise I used to - I'd walk all over the Shire and beyond, you know, was quite notorious for it. 'There's old Mad Baggins off on another of his adventures', folk would say, every time I went further than Bywater. But I don't do more than take a turn around the gardens, now. And there are so many wonderful things to eat here..."

"I could eat all day, when there is such food as this!" Rowanna agreed. "One of the Elves said something the other day about how much less thin I was looking - at least, if I understood him right then he said," - she glanced sidelong at Bilbo - "that I was looking much more comely, and that I must be eating like a Hobbit!" To her relief, far from being offended, her tutor roared with laughter.

"Do you know which of Elrond's folk it was? Lindir, I'll wager; he's convinced we Hobbits never have a thought in our heads beyond our next meal. But truly, my dear, I am delighted to see you enjoying Rivendell's food to the full; for if it isn't ungallant of me to say so, the day we first met, you looked in need of a few good square meals!"

"That was only because I had been ill," Rowanna protested. "I always had a hearty appetite - being out on the plains with horses all day never taught me the dainty eating habits of a fine lady of Gondor, I fear!"

A few days later, the Hobbit was glancing over his morning's notes relating to the dwarf-clans of the Grey Mountains, when an unfamiliar sound caused him to glance up. _Hurrying feet, and not Elven feet, either!_ A moment later, the woman of Rohan burst through the door, face flushed, but eyes sparkling. Bilbo was somewhat taken aback to observe that instead of the borrowed gowns he was accustomed to see her in, she wore Mannish breeches; before he could exclaim over it, however, Rowanna had rushed up to their table and was gasping breathless apologies for her tardiness.

"I am so sorry, Bilbo - but oh, you will never guess what I have been doing -"

"If I did not know better," the Hobbit retorted with a twinkle in his eye, "I should say the only possible excuse to be thus late for your lesson, my dear girl, was that you had been on a horse!"

"But I _have!_ " Rowanna grinned so broadly that Bilbo could not help but feel warmed by her delight, and smiled back. "Master Elrond agreed last night that I was strong enough to try to ride if I wished to; and so this morning Brethil the head groom -"

"I do know Brethil, yes, dear girl, I _have_ dwelt in Rivendell some sixteen years -"

" - Brethil picked out a mount for me, and Arwen and I have just been down to the river and back!"

Suddenly Rowanna's legs looked as though they would no longer bear her, and she collapsed into the nearest chair. Bilbo was alarmed.

"My dear, are you well? There now, sit still, take some deep breaths. Are you sure you have not done too much?"

"No - I am well -" She breathed hard for a few moments. "Although," - she winced as she shifted in her seat - "I fear I shall feel this sorely tomorrow! I know it is foolish to make such a fuss, when all I did was to walk a few steps on Edlothia, and she's a mare I would give to any frail grandmother back in the Mark! But oh, Bilbo, to be on horseback again..."

"My dear, I am delighted," the Hobbit pronounced, "even if I will never, if I live to be two hundred, understand why Elves and Men are so attracted by the idea of sitting astride those great four-footed beasts and galloping off over the horizon; why were we given two perfectly good legs of our own, after all? But never mind," he smiled at Rowanna's somewhat crestfallen reaction, "let every man dig his own plot, as old Gaffer Gamgee used to say, and I think this merits a celebration. What say we excuse ourselves from the history of Beleriand, just for today, and adjourn directly for some tea?"

Happily ensconced in Bilbo's rooms, Rowanna put away so many of her favourite pastries in rapid succession that a second plate had to be sent for.

"I am sorry, Bilbo!" she exclaimed, somewhat abashed. "I did warn you what an appetite I have when I have been out with the horses! I fear the kitchens may have to be warned that I am riding again..."

"Which reminds me, my dear horse-lady," the Hobbit pointed out as he poured the tea, "you had promised me the tale of how you came to be brought up on the plains of Rohan in the first place. What was your father doing there? One of those noble scions of Gondor who so commonly went to serve in the _éoreds_ of the Riddermark a few years ago?"

"And you claimed to know little of Rohan!" Rowanna exclaimed. "How did you come to hear of that?"

Bilbo looked sagely at her over the rim of his teacup. "Oh, my good friend the Dúnadan - " _There it is again,_ thought Rowanna - "was there himself at one time - a few years before your father, by the sound of it. What little I know of both Gondor and the Mark I largely have from him. But we digress! - if I am right, then, to whose _éored_ was your father assigned?"

"The Chief Marshal of the Mark himself, Éomund. If it hadn't been for that chance - " She broke off, suddenly taking great interest in the delicate patterning of a plate on the small tea-table between them. After a long pause, the Hobbit enquired very gently:

"What did happen to your father, my dear?"

"Orcs." Rowanna took a deep breath, and her voice trembled only faintly as she looked up again at Bilbo. "Orcs out across the Dead Marshes on Rohan's eastern borders. Only the Chief Marshal himself and his own _éored_ ever went out against them then; Mother says in those days their raids had been rare things, and when they began to be more frequent Lord Éomund saw the danger at once, and would insist on driving them back all the way over the borders." She heaved a great sigh. "At least," she added at last, "none could say Éomund sent his men where he would not go himself; for a few years later it was orcs in the same Dead Marshes that were his end too..."

For a long moment, neither spoke. The Hobbit laid a hand on his pupil's sleeve and nodded, sympathy written across his kindly face; at last he smiled, and offered her some tea. The chill which had descended on the cosy little room was banished as they both laughed and talked again. Yet Bilbo remembered it; and it came back to him a few evenings later when, in the Hall before supper, he happened to glance across at the Lady Arwen, and caught her gazing at Rowanna, with anxiety shading her clear grey eyes.

***

It was evening, and many of Rivendell's folk were gathering in the Hall to gossip before supper. From his habitual stool in the corner, Bilbo Baggins happened to glance across towards the fireplace where the Lady Arwen stood, and caught her gazing intently at Rivendell's mortal guest.

The Evenstar and Master Elrond had been observing the woman of Rohan's growing friendship with the Hobbit with pleasure, and not a little relief. Arwen was only too aware of Rowanna's isolation, and had puzzled over how to relieve it without infringing on her friend's prickly independence.

_It is good to see her smiling; and better that she finds her own solace,_ she mused that evening as she watched Rowanna practising her newest Sindarin phrases on an amused Erestor. _I was beginning to fear she would despair of ever regaining her strength..._ She laughed at herself a moment. _You doubted the determination of a Mortal? You of all people, Arwen, know better than that! Besides, Father would say that she is meant to be here, and therefore she is meant to be healed. Would Béodred and Dirgon have succeeded else, with all the hazards that were stacked against them?_

Yet as Bilbo watched her curiously from across the Hall, Arwen frowned, still troubled by Rowanna. _The sun shines on her again in her waking hours; and yet - after all these weeks, she has no memory of what happened to bring her here, neither awake nor in dreams. I do not like that, and yet I am not sure why..._

She shook herself, trying to cast off her unease, as she looked across the Hall to where Erestor and Rowanna sat, the twilight slowly deepening through the window behind them. In the great hearth, the first fire of the autumn had been lit; for summer was gradually losing its hold on Rivendell. While the days continued warm and sunny, the morning air had a bite to it, and the evenings were drawing in and growing colder.

The Evenstar paced slowly across to the balcony which opened out from the Hall, hoping to shake off her anxious mood; yet the view out over the valley, as the last hints of the Sun's presence faded from the West, only stirred deeper fears. Mist was slowly rising from the forest, obscuring the mountains beyond until Rivendell floated alone, an isolated island in a sea of darkness. _It could almost be summer still, here in the valley; but beyond our bounds, the autumn's chill tightens, and yet - nothing. Silence. No sign of Elladan and Elrohir, who surely should be returned by now, or at least have sent some message. And...no word from you, my Estel. Nothing for many, many weeks. What is happening, out there beyond our wards? Why can I not see?..._

On the other side of the Hall, her father's thoughts tended along lines not far from Arwen's. _What is Mithrandir doing? I had thought to see him in Imladris before the leaf's fall, or at the least to have some word from him! However I might try to reassure Arwen of the unpredictability of wizards, I like it not, and my daughter knows it - and she knows too that if evil has befallen Mithrandir, then peril may well menace the borders of the Shire and those who guard them._ At that thought, Elrond's jaw tightened, and he stared grimly into the fire. _Silence from the Shire... my sons, where are you? Earendil, watch over them!_

Wrenching his thoughts away from the darkness beyond his bounds, the lord of Rivendell gazed again at Rowanna, talking and laughing with his steward. _I knew something tugged at the back of my mind regarding her branch of Elros' line, although I should have to comb through the genealogies of Arnor in the library to be sure. The fate of certain of its daughters... aging and dying before the usual span of a Dúnadaneth; overmastered by care and heaviness, and always at times when the dark was rising in Middle-earth. Was I right to speak my fears to you, my daughter? I would not burden you needlessly with them; and yet..._

The Evenstar's glance crossed with her father's for a moment; in the instant before he withdrew, she read his thought unveiled, and swallowed hard. Unbidden, her mind flew to another woman of the Dúnedain, who had sunk beneath her foresight of the growing power of the Enemy ,and given up her ghost at barely a century old. Arwen still grieved for her, and wondered whether Estel would ever cease to blame himself for his mother's death.

_Elbereth guard you, Rowanna, against such a fate! For I do sometimes think that the darkness weighs most heavily, not on those who can take up the sword and march against it, but on those whose battles are fought behind the lines; those who can only wait and pray for its overthrow.._.

At that moment Rowanna threw her head back and laughed at something Erestor said, and the deep, musical sound drifted through the company on the evening air. From their different corners of the Hall, Master Elrond, Arwen and Bilbo Baggins smiled in spite of themselves, and tried to forget the shadows which the warmth and light of the Hall could not quite drive away.

*******

**Author's Notes:  
**

_Dúnadaneth_ : according to Hisweloke, _adaneth_ is the feminine of _adan_ , "man". Seems logical that the word to specify a female Dúnadan would be _dúnadaneth_.

_edlothia_ = blossom in Sindarin (thanks again to Hisweloke). Seemed an appropriate name for a very gentle mare.

"another woman of the Dúnedain who had sunk beneath her foresight...": Gilraen, Aragorn's mother, died in her hundredth year - a ripe old age for many Mortals, but nothing for a woman whose son was to live to over twice that. The account of her death in the Appendices to LoTR says she was "aged by care, even as one of lesser Men," and she told Aragorn that "now that it draws near I cannot face the darkness of our time that gathers upon Middle-earth. I shall leave it soon."


	5. I'll Linger Here, Beneath the Sun

"Arwen - do you think I might get up today? I can see the sun streaming through the trees, and the air smells so good! I would love to be outside!"

The Evenstar turned from the door which she had been holding for the _elleth_ with the breakfast trays, and smiled at Rowanna. It was two days now since her patient had first awoken, and it was true, it was a beautiful morning.

"If you feel ready, I am sure fresh air would do you good." Seeing the other's suddenly doubtful expression, she added, "Why - what is wrong?..."

"I don't think I have anything to wear!" Rowanna exclaimed, ruefully. "From what you told me, the shirt and breeches Béodred brought me here in were almost worn through, and I can hardly go out in my shift!"

Arwen looked rather pleased with herself. "Ah - well, as it happens I did think of that!" She went to a heavy wooden chest in the corner of the room and lifted the lid. "While you've been asleep these past few days, I've been going through my gowns and having a few made over to fit you." She knitted her brows for an instant. "At least, I hope they will fit. You're a little broader in the shoulder than I, and that I judged right; but I thought at first you would be shorter than I am, and yet now I've seen you sitting up, I think we're much of a height. You are tall for a mortal, my dear - it must be your Dúnadan blood! Your mother is Dúnadan, isn't she? - Béodred said so?"

"Of Dúnadan descent, yes," Rowanna confirmed. "But several generations back; her own mother was born in Minas Tirith, and that was where she met my father, for he was a nobleman of Gondor."

"I still do not understand how you come to have grown up in Rohan," Arwen commented.

Rowanna laughed. "Oh, I have a tangled lineage, Arwen! I shall tell you the whole of it one hot afternoon when you are in the mood for a long tale, and see if I can put you to sleep! But come, let me try one of these gowns. If it is a little short, well, I dare say Rivendell will survive the sight of my ankles! Your gowns are beautiful, and I so rarely wear dresses. I spend most of my life in breeches out with the horses..."

As she spoke, she was throwing off the bedclothes, and swinging her legs from the bed. Ignoring Arwen's suddenly anxious "No, wait! " she went to stand up - and with a gasp crumpled up on the floor, as her legs gave way beneath her. Arwen rushed to her side.

"Oh Rowanna, are you hurt? I should have warned you! Father will think I take no care of you at all!" She lifted her back on to the bed as easily as if she held a child. Rowanna had turned milk-white, and looked somewhat stunned.

"Arwen - my legs!..."

"Don't be afraid." Arwen sat down and put an arm around her. "Nothing ails your body that time will not cure. But you forget, you were out of your senses for many weeks. The muscles of your limbs are wasted from disuse. It will take some time to get your strength back."

To her own dismay, Rowanna found herself shaking and near tears. _I cannot walk! I knew I was tired, and I have slept much, but I did not know... I never spent a day sick in my life, before this! There was that broken arm, once, but I could still be up and about. And - if I cannot walk, what of riding?..._

"How - how long, Arwen?..."

"To walk again?" The Evenstar looked uncertain. "If you were an Elf, I would say a few days, perhaps a week or two. But mortals lack our recuperative powers. We will do all we can to work your muscles, and let you walk a little at a time. But I think it will take you some weeks at least to regain all your strength, perhaps longer." Seeing Rowanna's dismay, she felt a surge of sympathy and suddenly hugged her tightly. "Do not worry! You will get well, I promise you. You were brought here so that in Imladris you might be healed, and healed you will be. And it is not such a terrible place in which to recover, is it?"

Rowanna managed a shaky smile. "N-no... but how am I to get outside today, if I cannot go on my own legs?"

"Oh, I am sure we can find a way." Arwen returned to the corner chest, delved for a moment, and held up a leaf-green gown, with deep pointed sleeves and a delicately embroidered neckline. "Would this suit milady for her first morning abroad?"

She was rewarded with a faint chuckle. "It would suit me very well! Will you help me put it on?"

A few minutes later, Rowanna was dressed, and Arwen was completing the braiding of her hair, when a knock came at the door. At Rowanna's prompting, a raven-black head appeared and a drawling voice enquired whether the owner might be of service. _Elrohir, then!_ Rowanna thought as he spoke. She still struggled to tell the twins apart on appearance alone.

"Elrohir - your timing is perfect!" Arwen exclaimed. "Rowanna would like to be outside on this beautiful morning, but she is not strong enough yet to walk out to the garden. Would you-"

"If the lady will allow me to assist her, it would be my pleasure," her brother responded. "May I bear you to the garden, _rohíril_?" He noticed Rowanna's uncertain look. "Oh, fear not, you may be almost of a height with me, but I will not drop you! Elves look slightly built, but we can match with mortal Men of twice our bulk..."

"No, it isn't that - " Rowanna began, but she got no further before Elrohir dropped on one knee beside the bed, swept her up in his arms in a surprisingly firm hold and strode towards the door. A few minutes later, he lowered her carefully into a stone seat set into a sunny corner of the garden wall.

Rowanna's eyes widened with delight. The warm spot her escort had chosen for her nestled at the lower end of a gently sloping sweep of lawn, bordered on either side by rosebeds which overflowed with abundant colour and scent, sheltered by low walls of golden stone where honeysuckle and clematis climbed. Here at the end of the slope the wall curved around in a half-circle, sheltering a small stone fountain in the shape of two intertwining trees, water gently trickling down from their canopies of carved foliage in a constant, soothing murmur. To her left and right, stone paths broke away through openings in the wall to wind between dark evergreen hedges. She could hear more fountains trickling, and here and there at the corner of a hedge could glimpse a flash of white marble where a statue stood. Clearly the gardens of Rivendell held further delights around every corner, and Rowanna could only hope that it would not be long before she was fit enough to explore them.

Arwen, following, passed Elrohir a heavy silk shawl, which he arranged solicitously over Rowanna's shoulders. "I know it is summer, but it is early yet, and you must not catch cold in the breeze! There, _rohíril_ , are you comfortable?"

"Very!" Rowanna drew a deep breath. The rich perfume of roses filled her head. "Oh, the air almost _tastes_ good! Thank you, Elrohir."

"The pleasure is all mine!" To her surprise, he caught up the hand she held out to him and pressed it briefly to his lips, earning him a stern frown from Arwen. The gaze he turned briefly on his sister in response was all wounded innocence. "I am delighted to be of service to our guest. Until later, then..."

"My apologies, Rowanna," Arwen rolled her eyes. "Imladris is hot, he is bored –"

"And I am an amusing novelty?" The mortal woman laughed. "I am glad to hear it! Until later, Elrohir, and my thanks…"

The Peredhel strode off, whistling merrily. The two women did not notice, as the son of Elrond had, a tall, fair-haired figure under the stable-arch, who had stopped dead on his way around the corner of the house as he saw them descend into the garden, and now turned away with a face as glowering as a distant thundercloud.

Rowanna leant her head back against the stone wall, tilted her face up to the warmth of the early morning sun and closed her eyes. Slowly, she felt the heat from the stones spreading throughout her body, and began to relax. Birdsong filled the air all around her, and somewhere off to one side a bee was buzzing happily. She sighed with contentment.

"Do not feel you must wait on me all morning, Arwen, I beg you! I am sure you have other things you would rather be doing..."

"Rather than sitting in the sun in the garden?" Rowanna heard Arwen's silver laugh. "I can think of none! I have a letter I need to write, for Father is sending a courier out this afternoon, but I can very well do that here."

"Where is the courier going?"

"Westwards, to the borders of a land called the Shire, between Rivendell and the sea. A land guarded by the Dúnedain, your kinsmen. There is... one among them to whom I would send a message." Even with her eyes closed, Rowanna felt sure the Evenstar was smiling.

"Mother used to tell me stories of the Dúnedain," she murmured. "I remember she said once that Rivendell was the place where the Dúnadan chieftains were always brought up, under Master Elrond's tutelage. Was that right?"

Silence greeted her question, and Rowanna opened her eyes - to find Arwen gazing at her with a startled expression.

"Your mother did not forget her inheritance, did she?" she said softly. "Indeed, my dear, it is true that the Heir is by tradition fostered by my father here in Imladris. The Chieftain now is named Aragorn, though all in the valley call him Estel, and he grew up here..."

Rowanna's dark eyes had grown wide again. _The very day I awoke here I felt as though I had woken into one of my mother's stories. The legends grow and multiply as though they bred in the grass! The Chieftain of the Dúnedain..._ She noticed a far-away expression drifting across Arwen's features.

"Is your letter to the Chieftain?"

"It is. He likes to hear news of... Rivendell."

Arwen said no more, and Rowanna closed her eyes again. _I will not ask for now about the other tale of the Dúnedain that Mother used to tell me,_ she mused, _the one she said Father never approved of. The legend that said one day the King of Gondor would return again from the North..._ She sat back, soaking up the sun, and Arwen turned her attention back to her letter, and smiled as she wrote.

***

For the next few days, Rowanna laboured hard at stretching and working the muscles of her wasted legs. She could walk a few steps now, and Arwen or the twins would always find her dressed when they came to breakfast with her. She spent as many hours in Rivendell's gardens as she could, though she still had to be carried outside. Béodred had developed an uncanny habit of divining just when she might be ready to go out or to return, and appearing just in time to ensure there was no need for Elladan or, particularly, Elrohir to assist her. Despite Rowanna's protests, he treated her as though she were made of eggshell, and would not suffer her to stretch out a hand for herself if he could do anything for her. After a week of this, Rowanna spent an evening in long discussion with Elrond, and at the end of their conference, Béodred was summoned to join them.

He came in a little warily, nodding his respects to Elrond - "My lord - " and then dropping on one knee beside Rowanna's chair to take her hand. "Rowanna! Are you all right?"

"I am quite all right, my friend, have no fear," she said firmly, motioning him into a chair. "Please, Béodred, sit. There is something I want to discuss with you."

He sat, but looked no less wary, eyes flicking from Rowanna to Elrond and back again. Rowanna began.

"Béodred, you know that thanks to you and to Master Elrond, I have been healed of my sickness, and Elrond says I shall in time recover to full health." He nodded, not taking his clear blue eyes from her face. "But it is going to take me longer than I first realised to regain my full strength, to walk without tiring, and certainly to ride. Many weeks, in all likelihood."

"There is no need of haste!" Béodred broke in. "You must not over-tax your strength –"

"Small chance of that, with you watching over me!" Rowanna retorted, and the blond Rider was quelled. "But Béodred, consider. Summer is passing, and it is already, what? two months since we left Edoras? Aelstan has been without us both on the farmstead all that time, and must already be sorely feeling the lack. If you wait until I am well enough to ride long distances, it will be months before you return. Worse - Lord Elrond tells me that if you wait into the autumn, and early snows close the mountain passes, you might be here all winter. So, I have been thinking hard and long upon this, and I think that you should go back."

"Back to the Riddermark without you?" the horse-lord burst out. "And leave you here alone?"

Elrond arched an eyebrow very slightly at that, though the Rider failed to notice, caught up in indignant bewilderment. Rowanna saw it, and restrained the impulse to roll her eyes in frustration. _I knew it would be like this! I knew it..._

"Oh Béodred, I would hardly be alone! Nowhere could I be better cared for than here in Rivendell!" He flushed, not liking that at all, but Rowanna ploughed on, determined.

"I would ask you as a service to me, too, my friend, to bear word back to Edoras, to my mother, that I am healed and my life is in no danger. Only think, it is already weeks since we set out, and she has no news at all of her only child. I would do anything to allay her fears and let her know that all is well!"

"But how will you return to the Mark, then, when you are well?" the Rider challenged. "You could not ride alone from Rivendell for hundreds of leagues! There are too many dangers! Trolls and orcs and probably wolves, to say nothing of men of ill will, and the rivers to ford..."

_And I might let my horse shy at a falling leaf and break my neck, I suppose,_ Rowanna thought with exasperation. _He truly thinks I will break at the least touch..._

"I would not propose riding alone, of course not," she responded, more gently than she felt. "When the time is right for me to return, I am sure Master Elrond will provide me with an escort. Or I had thought that perhaps, as befits him as one of my mother's household, Dirgon might consent to stay until I was fit to ride South. Elrond tells me that in a few days' time some of his folk here intend to set out over the Misty Mountains for Lothlórien, the Golden Wood, and that is halfway to Edoras from Rivendell. Were you to ride with them, I would have no fears for you." She smiled sweetly at him. _Oh, I should not tease him, but he is impossible at times!_

"My people would indeed be happy if you would agree to ride with them as far as Lórien, my friend," Elrond put in. "The ways south of Rivendell are never certain now that much of Mirkwood grows dark once more, and my folk would be glad to add your strength to their escort. Shall I tell Erestor that your mount and gear should be prepared?"

Béodred stared at the floor for a moment. When he looked up again his voice was hoarse, but steady. "It seems that is to be my course, Master Elrond. I thank you."

"Then I shall see to it at once, and ask you both to excuse me." Elrond rose, bowed to them both, and made his exit.

_Leaving me to face Béodred!_ Rowanna thought, groaning inwardly. _But no, he is right, I should not shirk this, nor will_ _I._ _Béodred is a good and loyal friend, and deserves answers from me if he would have them..._

The horse-lord had not moved as Elrond left the room; but as the door closed softly, he got up and paced across to the window, leaning against its frame and gazing out into the darkness. Finally, he spoke; not in the Westron they had used in Elrond's presence, but in the Rohirric tongue the two of them shared.

"Why, Rowanna?"

"For all the reasons I gave you. Because I know how sorely your uncle will be struggling without us both, and I would return at least you to him as soon as may be. And because I do desperately want my mother to have news of me."

"But that is not all." He spoke without turning, still gazing out towards the Falls.

_Oh Béodred, you do not make this easy! But I cannot lie, least of all to you._

"No, that is not all. Béodred, you know well that I have never liked to be treated as a weakling, or incapable, because of my sex. And Aelstan has always respected my skill, and treated me as his equal in that, and I asked nothing else. You used to behave in kind."

Rowanna got up slowly in her turn, and carefully moved the few paces to stand across from him. "But... a few months ago, I began to notice a change. You started urging me to stand aside when there was any risk from a beast, or when something strenuous was in hand. You began to behave as though you thought I was less able than the menfolk, and would break at the least knock! And since I awoke here in Rivendell... you have barely let me stir, or do the least thing for myself. I have been ill, but I am not helpless! And yet you act as though I were some precious, fragile thing..."

"You know why that is." Béodred's voice was muffled. He still would not look at her. Rowanna sighed, reached for his shoulder and gently turned him to face her. His face was aflame, and his eyes were suspiciously bright.

"Yes, I think I do, Béodred. And that is the final reason why I ask you to go."

For a long moment, their eyes held, and Rowanna read in his open face hurt, and anger, and wounded pride. Then the horse-lord spun on his heel and strode to the door. He paused for a moment as he reached for the handle.

"So be it. Farewell."

With that he was gone, the door slamming behind him. Rowanna heaved another great sigh. Then she drew the drapes across the window, dimmed the lantern and made ready for bed. Béodred was injured and indignant, and she was sorry for it, but she was sure she had hurt his pride as much as his heart, and although she went to her bed worrying over him, it was not long before she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.  
  
*******  
  
  



	6. With Foes Ahead, Behind Us Dread

"Bilbo... have you been out of the library this afternoon?"

Rowanna was somewhat late for her lesson that chilly October day by the Hobbit's reckoning; yet looking up from his notes on the Battle of Erebor, he noticed that she was still in the breeches and shirt she now habitually wore for her mornings working in the stables, as though some distraction had prevented her going to change. She was frowning as she took her seat. "Something - strange - is going on. Can you hear it?"

"Hear what, dear girl? Really, I've entirely lost my thread now!" Bilbo grumbled.

"All that..." Rowanna searched for words. Not commotion, exactly. It was too subtle for that. But coming across the courtyard from the stables she had _felt_ , as much as heard, the disturbance in the air. Whisperings. Murmurings. And then, as she ran up the steps and crossed the threshold, she had come upon the source of it all.

Swiftly she sketched for Bilbo what she had seen; Erestor the steward standing in the centre of the great hall, the mellow autumn sunlight striking obliquely through the high windows over his head to glow on the rich hangings covering the wall behind him. Erestor, listening intently to a taller Elf with gleaming golden hair - not one of Elrond's folk, Rowanna was sure; for she knew at least by sight those few in Rivendell, like the lord Glorfindel, who were fair-headed. Besides, the stranger stood in muddy, travelstained cloak and boots, and breathed hard whenever his urgent flow of words and taut gesturing was interrupted by a tense, biting question from Elrond's steward.

"What did they speak of?" Bilbo, interested now despite himself, put down his quill and gazed at her over the top of his sheaf of notes.

"I could not catch much. They were speaking quickly, and I was trying to creep around to the staircase without disturbing them, for they did not look as though they would welcome interruption! A few people were lingering in the doorways and on the stairs trying to look as though they just happened to be passing, but I know they were listening. The stranger said something about _nazgûl_ ; I'm sure of that, for he spat the word out as though it was something foul. And I heard 'nine', and 'hunting'... and several times _periannath_. That's 'hobbits', isn't it, Bilbo?..... Bilbo?" For the old Hobbit was staring blankly at her, his papers forgotten on the desk, and his face suddenly rather pale.

"Hunting?..." he whispered, as though to himself. "That's very odd, very odd indeed... no, surely not, it couldn't be... _periannath_?" he demanded, suddenly turning his attention back to his baffled pupil. "Are you _sure_?"

"I - yes, I think so. What _is_ it, Bilbo? What is wrong?..."

Just as Rowanna despaired of obtaining any sense from Bilbo, there came a sudden flurry of movement beyond the door, and Master Elrond's deep. commanding tones reached their ears.

"No, thank you, Erestor, this I must do myself. Go and make all ready, as swiftly as you may. Summon those we spoke of. Bid them make the greatest haste!"

Then he swept into the library, his clear gaze swiftly raking its corners. When he lit upon Rowanna, she realised with a stab of cold shock that she had never seen him look more grave. His brow furrowed as he strode towards them.

"Rowanna, I must crave your indulgence a few moments. I have need of a word privately with Master Baggins..."

As Rowanna, stammering something, got to her feet, Elrond took her elbow under the pretext of guiding her to the door and murmured:

"Do not go too far. Bilbo may need you when I have done."

Feeling chill fingers of dread beginning to clutch at her stomach, she made her exit blindly. Only on the threshold did she dare look back. The lord of Rivendell had dropped to one knee in front of Bilbo, had taken the Hobbit's hands in his, and was speaking to him with gentle gravity. She forced herself not to strain to catch the words, and instead stumbled out into the corridor.

She could not bear to linger outside the door, and yet did not have leave to go. Pacing helplessly to and fro, she heard shouts, running feet, the slamming of doors. Somehow this, in a house where nothing was ever done with anything less than measured grace, frightened Rowanna more than all the rest. Her distracted steps brought her to the head of the staircase.

Down below, Erestor stood again in the hall, at the hub of frantic activity. She recognised the imposing figure of Glorfindel beside him, and several other Elves whom Bilbo had at one time or another pointed out to her, "lords of the Eldar, my dear; some of the greatest princes of the Firstborn lingering anywhere in Middle-earth." They towered even over Erestor, impossibly fair; it seemed to Rowanna as she watched that in the now shadowy hall a pale glimmer surrounded them, as though they cast their own starlight. With a shock, she realised that several of them bore full arms.

Suddenly there were running feet behind her, and as she turned a lithe figure flew past her with a bundle in his arms, crying urgently:

"Your weapons, Lord Glorfindel!"

Gracefully checking his headlong flight down the staircase precisely at the Elf-lord's feet, the boyish newcomer - an esquire, she guessed - swiftly helped Glorfindel arm, speaking rapidly in the Grey Tongue; too rapidly for Rowanna at first, until she realised he was simply providing a commentary on each piece of gear as he secured it.

"Your sword, my lord," - belting Glorfindel's scabbard in place, as he passed over the weapon for its owner to inspect and sheathe it himself - "your bow..." He added bow and then quiver with practised speed, hastily tugging and adjusting straps. "Bracers," - the Elf-lord held out his arms for the younger Elf to clap each of the leather forearm-guards in place and lace them swiftly - "knife," Glorfindel secured that at his belt. "Do you need aught else, my lord?..."

Just as Glorfindel opened his mouth to reply, however, there came another flurry of light feet; from the hallway to Rowanna's left, black hair flying every which way, burst a breathless Elf-woman. Rowanna recognised the harpist who had smiled at her the day she had first met Bilbo. She gasped out a single word:

" _Melethen!_.." but stopped dead, gazing down stricken at the golden-haired Elda with huge, dark eyes. Glorfindel whipped around at the sound of her voice until his eyes found hers; the look on his face tore at Rowanna's heart, and while he said nothing aloud, she was sure words were being exchanged which she could not hear. Then the Elf-lord turned back to the centre of the hall. The dark-haired harpist stood motionless, both hands pressed tightly to her mouth. Unshed tears glittered in her eyes.

Rowanna shrank back into the shadows, understanding blindly that here she could offer no comfort. Even as she withdrew behind a pillar, she heard a rustle of movement behind her, and a moment later the Master of Rivendell swept past her and down into the hall. His jaw was set and his expression grim.

He spoke swiftly and intently to the Elf-lords as they mustered, surrounded by that strange, lambent light they seemed to cast in the gathering darkness. Rowanna saw him take from Erestor and pass to each of them a small shape like a flask. Then the princes of the Eldar bowed hastily to Elrond, turned and ran for the great doors.

Rowanna was rooted to the spot as she watched them go. The first coherent thought she achieved was, _I must go to Bilbo_. As she turned on her heel, she heard a lilting murmur from the Elf-woman, who still stood gazing after Glorfindel, and spoke as though to convince herself:

"He will come back. He always comes back..."

Rowanna's heart hammered in her chest as she slipped through the Library doorway once more. She could not begin to fathom what was happening to disturb the serenity of Rivendell; yet tendrils of dread were clawing at the fringes of her mind. Whatever the dark threat was - and it surely must be powerful for such forces to be mustered against it - it seemed that it reached out to Bilbo, although how, she could not guess.

The little Hobbit sat motionless on his high stool, staring blankly at a sheet of paper on the table before him. He did not stir as his pupil approached.

"Bilbo?.." Rowanna slid to her knees before him as Elrond had done. Placing a hand gently on his, she found him icy cold, and saw he was trembling. "Bilbo, are you all right?..."

"It's all my fault..." the Hobbit whispered unhappily. Slowly he raised his head to look at her. "They're out there - my lad, my Frodo, he's out there with that Ring of mine, and those.. _things_ after him! Why, oh why did I ever leave it with him? I knew I should have gone back to fetch it long ago, but I let Gandalf and Elrond put me off, and now..."

"Frodo - your nephew Frodo?" Grasping at the only detail in this anxious flood which made any sense to her, Rowanna tried to remember what Bilbo had told her of the heir who seemed to be the apple of his eye. "What ring, Bilbo? And who is after him?"

Her tutor shook his head in alarm. "No - no, I can't say! I shouldn't have said anything - even here one mustn't speak of such things, I begin to understand that now - please, my dear, don't press me!"

He was so distressed that Rowanna made no attempt to draw him any further on the subject. Instead, with gentle cajoling, she persuaded him to agree to go to his rooms and take some tea. Bilbo began to shuffle his papers together distractedly, but knocked a great swathe of them to the floor with his shaking hands. Stilling his protests, Rowanna bent to gather them up, leaving him to tidy away his quills and ink.

As she carefully collected the leaves of paper and parchment, her eye was caught by a single sheet on which a verse had been inscribed in Bilbo's characteristic spidery hand. The upper portion of the page was written in Elvish _tengwar_ ; the lower part contained the same number and length of lines in Westron, as though Bilbo had at some time copied out the verse above, and with his habitual love of translating poetry had then rendered it in the Common Speech below. She did little more than cast a glance at it - something about Elven-kings, and dwarf-lords, and mortal Men - but it was the last few lines which arrested her eye, and which, much later as she sought sleep that night, beat in her head to a steady metre of doom:

_One Ring to rule them all,_  
One Ring to find them:  
One Ring to bring them all,  
And in the darkness bind them,  
In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie.  
  
*******  
  
 **Author's Notes:**

The dark-haired Elven harpist whom Rowanna first encountered in Chapter 5 is Nenglîr, LOTR_lover's OFC from her lovely fic [_Anticipation_](http://astele.co.uk/stories/chapter.cfm?stid=232), who was graciously lent to me for this story.

When he meets Aragorn and the Hobbits in _Flight to the Ford_ , Glorfindel tells them that news of their plight came to Rivendell via "some of my kindred, journeying in your land beyond the Baranduin"; it's not clear how many stages the news went through on its way to Rivendell, but I took the liberty of assuming that the messenger who actually reached Rivendell was of Glorfindel's/Gildor Inglorion's kin, and therefore, unlike most of the Noldor, would be blond.

The verse on Bilbo's parchment comes from FoTR Chapter 2, _The Shadow of the Past_.  
  
*******


	7. He Will Not Pass The Borders

Long, dead days of waiting passed. Rivendell lay in uneasy quiet; making her way about the House Rowanna continually encountered Elrond's folk in huddles, little knots of Elves whispering together on the stairs or in the passageways. The mists which rose from the forests nightly were only half-dispelled by the uncertain rays of the autumn sun, and lingered uneasily, obscuring the further reaches of the valley and leaving chill dankness in clothes and hair.  
  
Bilbo had made one attempt to set out from the valley in search of Frodo; fortunately, his preparations had been spotted by Erestor, and a discreet word with the Master of Rivendell had caused the Hobbit to be gently intercepted before he got far from the House. It had taken Elrond some hours to persuade Bilbo that all was being done for Frodo that could be done, and that in any case the threat which faced him was greater than anything Bilbo could combat. After that painful discussion, Bilbo largely retreated to his room, where he huddled unhappily, staring for hours into the fire. When he would let her, Rowanna stayed with him, fetching trays of tea or cake from the kitchens to tempt his appetite. Often, however, he insisted on being left alone, and then Rowanna would take refuge in the stables.   
  
Here, where the care of the beasts imposed its own steadying rhythms, there was rather less whispered tension in the air, and she would emerge soothed from an afternoon spent with Dirgon and the stable-lads, mucking-out, feeding or exercising under Brethil's unflappable direction. She was even accorded the privilege of grooming Master Elrond's notoriously temperamental sorrel stallion, Caradhras. The head groom was pleased to find that the tempestuous beast took to Rowanna, since those he would suffer to groom him were few and far between; Elrond himself seemed too preoccupied in recent days to make time often for the Redhorn, and Brethil could not always be taking charge of him. So Rowanna brushed, soothed and pampered the great stallion, murmuring softly to him of the wonderful foals she could breed from him had he ever the covering of her best mares in the Mark; at which Caradhras would snort softly into her ear, secretly pleased by all the attention.  
  
Early on a mist-shrouded morning, with a warm Elven cloak thrown over her shoulders against the chill, Rowanna was mucking out, chirruping and talking softly to her charges as she did so. Warm, living odours of horse and straw wafted comfortingly through the stables as the beasts shifted gently from foot to foot, rasping sounds rising from the hay-racks as one animal or another chewed contentedly.  
  
Suddenly the lively colt in the stall nearest the doors whinnied, tossing his head and stamping, and sparking further neighing and head-tossing along the line. "Hush," Rowanna admonished, but the horses would not be quieted, sniffing the air and craning heads forward to look over their stall-doors. Curious, Rowanna wandered out into the yard, joining a knot of murmuring stable-hands. Her command of the Grey Tongue was good enough, now, to join in their conversation, but none seemed to know what was exciting the beasts - until a lithe figure clad in the green of Rivendell's border sentries skidded into the yard and had just time to gasp out, before racing for the House:  
  
 _"Mithrandir! Mithrandir tôl!"_  
  
Exclamations and chatter exploded in the messenger's wake; bewildered, Rowanna had to catch a groom by the arm and demand explanation.  
  
"Mithrandir? He is one of the Wise, a great _ithron_ -" then seeing her puzzlement, "a.. _wizard_ , do you say in your tongue? He is a good friend to Imladris, and close in Master Elrond's counsels..."  
  
"I heard that Lord Elrond and the Lady Undómiel have been expecting word from him these many weeks," broke in another, "and looking for him every day. Elbereth grant his delay means no ill news!"  
  
In the distance, now, there rose a hubbub of voices rapidly approaching. All crowded out of the yard and around the corner of the House, just in time.  
  
Striding towards the House, brandishing a great gnarled staff of wood, came a well-muffled, somewhat stooping figure whose vigorous pace belied his greying hair and long, shaggy beard. Rowanna briefly glimpsed a frowning pair of impressively bushy eyebrows beneath the wide brim of a battered, pointed hat, before the apparition and his escort of agitated Elves swept up the steps of the House to be greeted by a rather flustered Erestor. Brooking none of the steward's attempts at greeting, the visitor strode straight past and made for the great door, booming as he went: "Never mind the light of Elbereth and the favour of the Valar, Elf, I have no need of you to bestow them - where is Elrond? Quickly! I must speak with him at once!"  
  
" _That,_ " muttered the nearest stable-lad into Rowanna's ear as they all gazed open-mouthed after the old man's retreating back, "was Mithrandir!"  
  
With the wizard's arrival, anxiety in Rivendell rose still further. Mithrandir had apparently gone immediately into long hours of council with Master Elrond upon his arrival. The Evenstar, too, had been requested to join them; Rowanna sat in Bilbo's room, with the little Hobbit murmuring agitatedly, "Gandalf! Yes, Gandalf - that's what Men and Hobbits call him, you know, Mithrandir's only the Elves' name for him; Gandalf, well, well! Now that he is come I am sure everything will be all right - Gandalf generally can make things right, in my experience. But what are they talking about all this time? And why can't I see him? Tell me again, my dear, how did he look when he arrived?..."  
  
Eventually, Bilbo too received the summons to Elrond's chambers, and hurried off still muttering to himself. Rowanna took herself away to the stables, and not until supper that night did she see the Hobbit again. He was cagey on the subject of the day's discussions, saying only,  
  
"Gandalf is worried about Frodo, I can tell that much; and yet he told me a few things which ease my mind a little. But he and Elrond were looking very grave; and Gandalf got through three pipes at least while we talked, and smoking good Old Toby without stopping to savour it is always a bad sign, if you ask me. But there's nothing to be done now but wait."  
  
***  
  
Another day dawned, and then another, each greyer and sullener than the last. By the afternoon of the wizard's third day in Rivendell the atmosphere of the House was wound up to such a pitch of tension that Rowanna felt she would scream if she did not escape; she fled to the stables, where Brethil, overburdened with restless, agitated animals, greeted her with relief. She took one of the worst offenders out for some exercise, a handsome bay gelding who had suddenly started trying to bite everyone in sight, and after giving him his head for a gallop along the river-meadows returned him to the grateful head groom with his manners somewhat improved.  
  
Once there was no further need of her in the stable-yard, she wandered out towards the river again, feeling she could not bear to return to the febrile atmosphere of the House. She realised she had a terrible headache, as though bands of iron were tightening around her skull. _I used to have those when I was a child, before a thunderstorm,_ she thought - and indeed, though the weather was all wrong for it, the air felt tight and louring as though a storm were brewing. Feeling a sudden overwhelming need to climb, to get out from the bottom of the valley, she struck out for one of the paths which wound its way up the steep northern slope, into the glorious flame-coloured riot of the oak and beech woods. Driven by a compulsion to keep moving, she pushed on, choosing a fork in the path to traverse the slope, which slowly curved around as the valley narrowed until she could look down on the western side of the House.   
  
As she stepped on a twig with a loud crack, it occurred to her how utterly still everything was. Not a breath of air stirred a single leaf; not one bird called. She had become so used to the lilting murmur of Elven song in the trees when she walked in the woods that she had almost ceased to notice it; now its absence struck her as eerie. The air pressed in upon her until she felt she would suffocate; the valley itself seemed unable to breathe.   
  
Out of the total silence, without warning, there rose suddenly from the distance a ghastly high-pitched shriek; an icy, dead sound. It seemed to go on forever, piercing Rowanna's skull as coldly as a blade so that she sank to her knees, blocking her ears and praying: _Make it stop - make it **stop**_ _!_  
  
Crouching under the unbearable force of that cry, she looked down helplessly on the House below her and noticed three figures, motionless as sentinels, gazing from one of the balconies out towards the valley's western end. Even at a distance they were unmistakable. Lord Elrond stood first at the balcony rail, flanked by the slender black-haired figure of his daughter, and on his other side the grey shape of the wizard Gandalf. As Rowanna watched, the Master of Rivendell lifted his right hand towards the end of the valley: Gandalf, too, raised his staff; and though with her fingers stuffed in her ears Rowanna could hear nothing, she thought Elrond's lips moved.  
  
The dreadful pain in her skull ebbed. For an instant as she took her hands gratefully from her ears, sick and shaking, there was complete silence. Then, as distantly as the first mutterings of an avalanche in the mountains, from somewhere to the west came a faint rumbling sound. Louder and louder, a great crashing of rocks and thrashing of water; over all Rowanna thought she heard the screams of horses. At last the great tumult rolled away like the fading of thunder, and all was still again.  
  
From the huge dark bank of cloud on the western horizon a shaft of sunlight broke through in an instant, bathing the valley in deep gold. A breeze sprang up, rustling the leaves and soothing Rowanna's flushed face. From a branch somewhere above her, a thrush broke into a sudden cascade of liquid song, trilling an impossibly elaborate salute to the sunset, and the mortal woman looked up and laughed in relief. Her headache was gone. When she looked down again to the House, the three guardians of Rivendell had vanished too.

***

By the time Rowanna had dropped back down into the valley, darkness was falling, and she hurried back to the House - where she found the atmosphere transformed. She caught sight of Master Elrond's housekeeper bustling purposefully down a corridor, trailed by _ellith_ bearing armfuls of crisp white sheets; other household staff were hurrying to and fro, while Erestor as ever directed operations. Little groups of Elves hung about stairways and balconies talking feverishly, making no attempt to quieten as Rowanna passed them; _either I am utterly beneath your notice,_ she reflected sarcastically, _or you think I still do not understand a word you say..._  
  
".. barred the Ford - did you hear the water and the boulders crashing?.."  
  
" - sent out to find them - one of them has It, you know - a halfling! Can you believe it?"  
  
" - called for bandages, and I saw them heating water in the kitchens; so they're expecting wounded - "  
  
"Well of course they are! Ringwraiths, remember? Who knows how many of the mortals Glorfindel can get back here alive?..."  
  
Racing to her room, Rowanna managed to obtain enough hot water for a hasty wash; the maidservant who brought it smacked the ewer down on the table and was gone before Rowanna could pry any more information from her. Scrubbed and changed, she flew along the corridors, up and down stairs, till she reached Bilbo's room.  
  
"What's happening?" the Hobbit demanded as soon as he answered her urgent knock. "I can hear all the commotion - but whenever I venture out I nearly get knocked over by one of Elrond's folk rushing about, and no-one has time to tell an old Hobbit anything. Do you know what's going on?"  
  
"Not really, Bilbo - something about Glorfindel bringing mortals from the Ford..." She had no intention of mentioning Ringwraiths, whatever they were, or the rumours of wounded. "I thought I'd go down to the kitchens and see what food I can find; I've not eaten since breakfast. I'll see what news I can glean on the way. Are you hungry?"  
  
"I couldn't eat a thing, my dear, but you go - quick as you can, and come back and tell me the minute there's any news! Mortals - oh, I hope it is Frodo, it _must_ be Frodo!"  
  
Settling down to hastily scavenged bread, cheese and meats back in Bilbo's room, Rowanna recounted between mouthfuls what she had heard and seen from the high valley path.  
  
"I heard that cry," Bilbo admitted. "All Rivendell heard it, I should say; I was coming back from the library, and every Elf I could see was grimacing and stopping his ears. Bloodcurdling, that's the only word for it. And you say you saw Elrond and Gandalf on the balcony?" He frowned. "You know, I saw the two of them around sunset coming striding along from the western wing of the House. Very pleased with himself Gandalf looked too, now I come to think of it. I wonder what all that was about -"  
  
He broke off, as first one pair of running feet passed the door, and then another. A distant hubbub seemed to rise through the floorboards.  
  
"Something's happening," the Hobbit said anxiously. Jumping up, they stumbled out of the door and hurried towards the great entrance-hall. Rowanna did her best to wait for Bilbo; but infected by the urgency all around, she found herself racing for the head of the staircase to join the Elves hanging agog over the balustrade. As she came to a panting halt, the frantic whispering around her stopped suddenly dead. The great doors of the House were swinging slowly open.  
  
As Master Elrond advanced through the flickering torchlight to meet them, a small crowd of Elves emerged into the hall, Glorfindel towering a golden head and shoulders over most of them. As they moved aside, three smaller figures, white-faced and muddy, came blinking forward into the light. One staggered a little, and Glorfindel swiftly reached down a hand to steady him. _Children?_ Rowanna thought incredulously, and then: _No - Hobbits!..._  
  
Someone else stepped forward, and a sudden murmur rose like a wave from one side of the hall to the other and as quickly fell again. This was neither Elf nor Hobbit, but a Man; grimy and weatherbeaten, matted black locks falling into his eyes and nearly obscuring his face. " _Estel!_ " Rowanna heard someone mutter. In his arms, wrapped in a grey Elven cloak, he carried another Hobbit. As he moved towards Elrond, a fold of the cloak fell back, and Rowanna glimpsed deathly pale features which sent a sudden chill through her. The little figure in the Man's arms was a younger, thinner Bilbo.  
  
Bilbo himself let out a cry from behind her, and started down the stairs; the Man looked up quickly. Weary, red-rimmed eyes raked the crowd of Elves about the stairhead. For a moment his eye caught Rowanna's, and an odd feeling almost of recognition stirred at the corner of her mind. Then he seemed to find what he sought. Half-turning, Rowanna realised with a start that Arwen had emerged silently from the shadows at the top of the staircase and stood staring down into the hall.  
  
Looking from one to the other, Rowanna saw with a shock that grey eyes met grey; desperate, ragged relief in the Man's gaze, and in the Evenstar's -   
  
Fragments of memory suddenly jostled for attention in Rowanna's mind. The murmurs of the Elves - a letter written in the garden - something about the Man's face - _Estel_ \- all resolved themselves into one thought: _the Chieftain_. She looked again at him, and at the mingled joy and pain filling Arwen's eyes, and thought she understood.  
  
***  
  
Yet more anxious days of waiting. Rowanna paced the House unhappily, feeling restless and useless, for Bilbo was spending almost every hour keeping watch at Frodo's bedside along with another of the hobbits, a shy red-faced lad called Sam. She had no wish to intrude; and in truth, the wounded hobbit's deathly pallor chilled her to the bone, stirring shadows somewhere in the depths of her memory.  
  
"He was stabbed by some sort of terrible black blade, before they made it across the Ford," Bilbo told her in a half-whisper when she brought treats prepared by Rivendell's cooks to try to persuade him to eat. "Elrond is doing all he can, but I can tell he doesn't like the look of it at all; Gandalf thinks there may still be something in the wound, and -" He broke off, biting his lip furiously. Feeling more helpless than ever, Rowanna laid a hand briefly on his shoulder, and withdrew. As she closed the door, she heard Arwen's voice lifted softly in song from the bedside. Outside she passed the hunched grey figure of the wizard, gazing from a window-alcove over the valley, curls of smoke wreathing from his permanently-lit pipe.  
  
In and around Frodo's sickroom, all was hushed; Elrond's folk tiptoed past and spoke in whispers. Elsewhere in Rivendell, nonetheless, the flow of gossip continued unabated; for the steady trickle of arriving strangers and unexpected guests grew as the days went by. First the Hobbits, then an Elf all the way from the Grey Havens in the West; and then, to Rowanna's astonishment one day as she led a horse out for exercise, in rode a long line of ponies bearing short, stout hooded figures. The rider at the head of the line pushed back his white hood to reveal a craggy, glowering face and a long, forked snow-white beard.  
  
" _Negyth_ ," muttered one of the stable-hands darkly. When Rowanna gave him a puzzled glance, he frowned as he searched for the Westron word. " _Dwarves_."  
  
On the morning after the Dwarves' arrival, a beautiful autumn morning of crisp sunshine, Gandalf came out of the House to take a rare stroll through the gardens, and Bilbo emerged smiling from the sickroom and pottered off in the direction of the library. The word flew through Rivendell like wildfire; Master Elrond's healing had succeeded. Frodo Baggins was awake.  
  
*******

**Author's Notes:  
**

_Mithrandir tôl_ \- Mithrandir is coming.

Dates: According to Appendix B of LOTR, Gandalf arrives in Rivendell on October 18th (the same day that Glorfindel finds Frodo); two days later, on October 20th, the Ford is barred. Tolkien says nothing about how Elrond knew when to bar the Ford; presumably he is either gifted with some sort of sight or foresight, or can sense the Ringwraiths' presence on the borders of his domains sufficiently keenly to know that they need to be barred from crossing. We know Gandalf helps Elrond bar the Ford, because he tells Frodo about the "few touches" he added (the white horses).

I am indebted to the authors of the various articles on horses in the HASA Resources section, as ever, particularly ErinRua's notes on horse colours, from which I learnt that if I wanted Elrond's stallion a rich red colour, then sorrel was the word I needed.

_Ellith_ \- plural of _elleth_ (elf-maid, young elf-woman).   
_Negyth_ \- plural of _nogoth_ , Dwarf.  
  
No indication is given either in the text of LoTR or in the Appendices as to exactly when Gimli, Glóin and their retinue (I assume they have a retinue, in a vain attempt to impress the Elves..) arrive in Rivendell. However, since at the Council of Elrond so much weight is given to the importance of the fateful, apparently chance arrival of all these people just in time for the Council, I've chosen to assume that they turned up just a couple of days before the Council was held (though not cutting it as fine as Boromir did.)  
  
  
  
  



	8. There Shall Be Counsels Taken

Cold, starry night had fallen over Rivendell as two mounted figures picked their way down the valley's northern side - carefully, for the horses were weary and the grassy slope slippery. They had encountered border sentries as soon as they crested the rise through the pine trees, and from the flickering of signal-lanterns which leapt ahead of them down the vale, guessed that they would be expected by the time they reached the House.   
  
The taller of the two reached down to pat his chestnut gelding's neck reassuringly as the slope began to flatten out, murmuring: " _Mae agorech, Culagor, mae agorech_." Shifting the weight of his quiver on his back, he straightened his shoulders and sighed heavily. His companion shot him a concerned glance.   
  
"You are not looking forward to this, are you, my lord?"   
  
"You know I am not, Taurlaegel. And I wish you would not call me that." The rider of the chestnut smiled wryly. "You know my name well enough."   
  
"Forgive me, but we're not on border patrol now... sir," his companion responded. "Your father would wish you to ensure that Master Elrond's people show your house all due respect."   
  
That remark earned him an impressive grimace from the other. "Well do I know it. Father is not exactly convinced of Imladris' goodwill towards our people..." He bit his lip. "Sad to say, the news we bring is hardly likely to improve matters." _Is that why Father sent me? So that Elrond and his Deep-elves would not dare treat his messenger with disrespect? Or am I simply here to take the consequences of my own failure?..._  
  
The pensive rider finally shook his head, sending braided hair flying, and grinned. "Oh, come, Taurlaegel, enough gloom. Down we go. At the very least we shall get a hot bath, and perhaps some of Imladris' celebrated wine!" But for all his companion's attempt to make light of their task, Taurlaegel sensed that the further down the valley they descended, the edgier he became.   
  
The gatekeeper looked them over curiously as they approached, walking their tired beasts slowly into the pool of light cast by the gatehouse lanterns. Worn and faded jerkins and cloaks of brown and green; a bow and quiver slung across each back, he noted, no other weapons visible, and riding without saddle or bridle. _Not folk of ours,_ he observed with interest. _Wood-elves_. Still, had they not been accounted friendly, the sentries would not have let them pass unescorted, or signalled that they should be given entrance. "You are welcome, sirs. I will have your horses seen to - will it please you go up to the House?"   
  
As they ascended the steps, the great doors were swung open, letting light and laughter and distant song spill out from somewhere within. A dark-haired Elf in blue robes emerged over the threshold looking mildly agitated. Taurlaegel's companion groaned under his breath. " _Erestor_. He will make much of our arrival, and I am in no mood for - "   
  
"My lord! Forgive this lack of reception, we had no word of your coming!" Elrond's steward executed a formal bow. "The favour of the Valar be upon our friends from Mirkwood -"   
  
Taurlaegel did not miss the faint twist of his master's mouth at that greeting. _He has never learnt to like them naming Greenwood so!_   
  
"- Elbereth's light shine upon Imladris and all its people," the other cut in, frowning, before Erestor's more elaborate salutations could reach their full flow. "Erestor, we bring messages from my father to Master Elrond. Is the Lord of Imladris within?"   
  
"He is, sir; there is a great feast tonight for the - " Erestor checked himself - " for honoured guests. Lord Elrond and Mithrandir have called a Council for the morrow - "   
  
"Mithrandir is here?" Blue-grey eyes snapped wide open at that.   
  
"Indeed, my lord, at the feast. Will you be joining the company?" Erestor motioned in the direction of the Hall of Fire, but the guest shook his head.   
  
"It has been a long and not an easy ride, Erestor, and I think Taurlaegel and I both crave a bath and a bed before all else, tonight." _And I am in no mood to join a festive throng as though nothing were amiss..._ "Our tidings will keep till the Council tomorrow, if - " He broke off, as approaching footsteps rang out; a moment later, Elrond was striding across the entrance-hall towards them.   
  
" _Mae govannen_ , my friends. I was told you had been sighted further up the valley." He nodded to Taurlaegel, and favoured his companion with a deeper half-bow. "You will wish to bathe and rest, I imagine, after your journey. Erestor can have food sent up to your lodgings. You have heard that there is to be a Council tomorrow?"   
  
"Indeed, Master Elrond. With your leave, my message will keep until then." _For delivering it once is likely to be bad enough!_   
  
"As you will." To his guest's surprise, Elrond reached to clasp him warmly by the arm, and smiled. "You are indeed welcome to Imladris, Legolas Thranduilion."   
  
***   
  
Rowanna hummed softly to herself as she moved around the tack-room the next day gathering what she needed. It was a crisp autumn afternoon of clear blue sky, and she felt her spirits lift as ever at the prospect of a ride. _At least out here in the stables I have some purpose_ , she thought wryly. Delighted though she was that the combined skills of Master Elrond, the Evenstar and the wizard Gandalf had sufficed to save Bilbo's heir, since the party of Hobbits had arrived in Rivendell she had felt more and more in the way; for naturally, now that Frodo was awake, Bilbo spent almost all his time with him, and Rowanna disliked the pang of guilty jealousy she felt at the sight of the two of them ambling up and down the terraces above the gardens. Not that they had been ambling this morning; some sort of Council had been called, about which all Rivendell was agog, and which apparently looked set to be acrimonious. Unable and unwilling to fathom the intricacies of Elvish - or indeed Dwarven - politics involved, Rowanna had kept well clear of the House all day.   
  
She was about to turn to cross the yard towards the stalls when a familiar, drawling tone reached her ears.   
  
" _Rohiril!_ I swear I almost did not recognise you in those breeches!"   
  
Whirling, she confronted a Peredhel grinning quizzically at her from the doorway.   
  
"Or is it just," he went on, cocking his head on one side to inspect her, "that I so rarely saw you on your own two feet? Well, never mind! I am delighted to find you up and about!"   
  
_I wish you had not reminded me_ , she winced inwardly; but she could not hold it against him faced with his real and obvious pleasure. "Elrohir, it is good to see you! I heard last night that you were returned..." Mischievously, she added in the Grey Tongue, "although you nearly killed your horse!"   
  
Elrond's son looked startled for the merest instant; then he laughed uproariously. "I see you have been putting the idle hours until my return to good use, at any rate! Well done, _rohiril_!"   
  
The twins had indeed ridden into the valley the previous evening just as all were making ready for the great feast, causing another lightening-storm of Rivendell gossip; for by all accounts their horses were blown, they themselves travelstained and filthy, and they had marched grimly into the House refusing all offers of baths and refreshment, insisting on seeing the Man called Estel - _Aragorn, the Chieftain,_ Rowanna reminded herself - at once.   
  
Elrohir, however, did not seem disposed to talk of the previous night's doings - or of the great Council held that morning, though Rowanna suspected he must have attended it. Instead, he demanded to join her in her ride. "Brethil must find me a mount, though," he added, "for I own I have pushed Nimloss too hard these last days, and the poor beast must rest today." Brethil obliged with a bay gelding in need of exercise, and they trotted up the river-meadows towards the head of the vale, talking idly of the doings of Rivendell in Elrohir's absence. For some reason, he seemed to find the idea of Bilbo teaching Rowanna Sindarin highly hilarious, and sniggered a good deal at her description of their afternoons of study.   
  
"So we have Bilbo to thank, do we? I knew the furry-footed old rascal's love of all things Elvish would come in useful one day!"   
  
"Bilbo is a fine scholar and an excellent teacher!" Rowanna retorted. She felt a sudden surge of irritation at Elrohir's easy mockery. "We poor mortals may not have eternity at our disposal, but some do manage to achieve a limited degree of wisdom nonetheless, believe it or not!" As he merely sat atop the bay grinning at her, she became truly exasperated. _Did I really think I missed your teasing tongue? Very well, I will show you, you arrogant half-Elf!_ "You said that by the time I returned you expected to see me galloping up the valley," she threw back over her shoulder as she turned her mount about. "Well then - watch this!" And with a sharp nudge to the great red flanks beneath her, in a shower of earth and a sudden thunder of hooves she was gone. Elrohir shrugged - then murmured a word in the bay's ear, and shot away in pursuit.   
  
***   
  
A faint breeze rustled in the great beech-tree where two Elves sat, high in the branches, overlooking the river. The leaves were just turning, Taurlaegel observed, from their autumn gold to the deep rust-colour which betokened leaf-fall and sun-fading. Back home, the beech-leaves would have turned some days ago, but the sheltered vale of Imladris seemed somehow able to hold the Fading back a little longer. The breeze also lifted his companion's hair and blew it for a moment against his face; Legolas, however, made no move to brush it away. He had not stirred for several hours from the fork of a great branch where he was curled, head resting against the silver-grey bark, gazing silently out over the valley. Taurlaegel recognised the signs, and knew better than to disturb his lord in this mood; so he shifted to lean more comfortably against his own branch, and waited.   
  
Legolas, as his esquire had correctly divined, was deeply troubled. Though his eyes appeared to rest on the rainbows of light dancing across the distant Falls, in truth he was very far away, back in a moonless summer night in the greenwood. _Darkness under the boughs. A little black shadow high up in the branches of that lone oak, cold pale eyes mocking us in the darkness, refusing to come down. And I told the guards to let him be!_ He gnawed angrily at his lip. _You fool, you over-soft, over-kindly fool! - But I did not know - none of us knew!_ He felt hot shame sweeping over him again as he recalled the Man Aragorn's anguished words. "How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?"   
  
_Aragorn, the heir of Isildur_. He had never taken much interest in the hierarchies and rivalries of Men, aside from the occasional diplomatic foray to Laketown deemed politic by his father; but even he knew of the fall of the royal house of Númenor, the descendants of Elros Tar-Minyatur. Fallen they might be, yet when he was presented at the Council the lean, grey-eyed Man's bearing had stirred his interest. _There is something... almost of the Quendi about him,_ Legolas had observed curiously. He had been startled to learn that this was the same Man who had brought the hissing, cowering cause of all his own present troubles to the Greenwood; _a filthy, scruffy Ranger straight out of the Wild, my folk told me!_ Legolas had been far out in the forest on patrol when the strange visitors appeared and, though he had been told of them and had ordered them closely watched, had not seen Gollum himself until he was called back to his father's halls to take charge of this strange hostage, whose close guarding Mithrandir apparently so counted upon.   
  
_Mithrandir._ Legolas groaned inwardly again. _We failed Mithrandir, and only now do I begin to understand how badly!_ The thought made his innards churn till he felt sick. _The One._ He had watched, with all the Elves, in fascinated horror as the little Halfling Frodo had held _It_ up before the Council. _The Ruling Ring. Sau - **His** ring_. He had grown increasingly uneasy as Bilbo Baggins spoke, telling his extraordinary tale of riddles in the dark and the finding of the ring which the Gollum-creature called _his preciousss... And we let him go. **I** let him go._ The knife twisted in his chest. _My guards, under my orders, on my watch. We had grown slack, weary of keeping endless vigil over this withered, twisted little thing, and we were not prepared..._ The sudden alarm-calls from the sentries, too few and too late. Crashing and howls as the Orcs came thundering through the undergrowth. He had reacted swiftly, marshalling his fighters, driving the foe off; not until too late had he understood. _I did not see where the true danger lay! Two guards slain, and the others..._ He sent up yet another prayer to Elbereth that the missing members of his patrol were, indeed, dead. Spurred on by fear for their comrades, he had led his troop in tracking the Orcs and their captive - _or their friend?_ as far south as they dared. _Nearly to Dol Guldur. And all the Council, except Mithrandir and perhaps Elrond and Aragorn, looked at me as if to say, **Nearly** to Dol Guldur? You do not go that way? You **dare** not? _  
  
_Well for them,_ Legolas thought angrily, _that they do not understand. That they know not how the mere mention of that name chills the blood and sickens the heart. Oh, well for you, all you Deep-elves safe in Imladris within Elrond's bounds! When did any of you, except Lord Elrond's sons, last feel foul black Orc-blood splash across your face? How long since you felt the icy fingers of the Darkness reaching out towards your precious haven?_  
  
Haven. What was it that messenger from Círdan had said? "What power still remains lies with us, here in Imladris, or with Círdan at the Havens, or in Lórien." And suddenly at those words something long half-understood had leapt into sharp relief in Legolas' mind, clear as winter branches against the sky. _I hope I did not gasp aloud. Imladris... the Havens... Lórien. Three refuges. Three._   
_  
Father has long known this, I am sure of it. Now I understand why he looks always half-askance when Elrond's name is mentioned; why he was so grudging, the same autumn of all that mad business with Bilbo and the Dwarves, about the White Council's decision to make war on Dol Guldur. He raged about "when the so-called Wise choose to lift a finger," and "deigning at last to aid those of us who have lived for_ yéni _with the Shadow growing on our borders" - and I thought he was just short-tempered because of Thorin Oakenshield and the Lonely Mountain! He must have felt that for all these years the bearers of the Three were content to leave us to battle the darkness alone, until it became a threat not just to our peace but to theirs... He would understand how Boromir of Gondor feels._ Legolas had been struck by the second Man present at the Council too, by his quiet desperation, by the beleaguered dignity of a bear at bay. _When he spoke of fighting a rearguard against the Darkness for unregarded years, I could not help but wince in sympathy! Small wonder he is tempted by the One - Men, they say, were ever the easiest for Sauron to ensnare with the longing to do great good..._  
  
Back to the One. Always, like a caged animal pacing, he circled back to that little golden thing, apparently so innocuous, yet drawing every eye at the Council inexorably to it. _**He** is seeking it once more... and I have aided him!_ Every fibre of Legolas' being screamed against the knowledge. _I cannot live with this! Somehow, no matter how, I must make amends..._  
  
Suddenly he sat bolt upright, causing the leaves around him to quiver violently, so that Taurlaegel stirred quickly on his own branch to look across at him. "My lord?"   
  
"Nothing, Taurlaegel, fear not. A thought came to me, that is all."   
  
_The Company. Elrond spoke of companions to go with the Halfling Frodo, to help him on the way to his quest. To cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom._ For a moment, a wave of darkness assailed him, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. But no, his path was clear. _I must speak with Lord Elrond, as soon as may be, before the scouting parties are sent out..._  
  
With some sort of decision thus reached, his frantic thoughts ceased their circling; he blinked, seeing the valley before him as though for the first time that day. The sun was sinking, and wisps of mist were beginning to rise from the long damp grass along the river-banks. In the distance he thought he heard hoof-beats; sure enough, a moment later a pair of riders came into view far up the valley, galloping down towards the House. From their crouched stance over their horses' necks, Legolas guessed they were racing each other for the sheer joy of it.   
  
"That looks set for a hairs-breadth finish," he observed.   
  
"You think so, sir? I would wager for the red stallion, myself..."   
  
"Inside knowledge!" Legolas quirked an eyebrow at Taurlaegel, who heaved an inward sigh of relief at this lightening of his master's mood. "Why so?"   
  
"I wandered into the stables this morning while you were all at Council, my lord. That beast is Caradhras, Master Elrond's prize stallion. And a temperamental one too by all accounts - it's not every Elf in Imladris he'll bear with good grace, so they told me."   
  
Legolas watched with growing interest as the racers approached. He knew the rider of the bay, he realised; that was surely one of Elrond's sons. But the other, Caradhras' rider, was indeed edging ahead, whooping with delight, urging the stallion on; he - no, _she,_ he realised as they drew nearer - was losing her braid, glossy dark hair streaming out behind her, and as the two swept past beneath the beech tree her deep, throaty laughter drifted back on the breeze to the Elves watching above. He gazed after her as the riders neared the House, where lights were now beginning to twinkle into the darkening evening air. Thoughts of firelight and singing after supper replaced his darker musings.   
  
"Shall we descend, my lord?" Breaking into his reverie, Taurlaegel's mind clearly tended along similar lines.   
  
Legolas nodded. "They tell me there is to be feasting again tonight; we can sample Imladris' full hospitality after all!" They dropped lightly out of the sheltering beech-tree, glad to stretch their legs, and strode in the riders' wake towards the House.   
  
***  
  
Taurlaegel lengthened his pace to keep up with Legolas as the two approached the great doors. Whatever aim his master had decided on up in that beech, he had nocked and drawn at it now, without question. Halting at the foot of the steps, Legolas merely said tightly,   
  
"Go on and prepare for the feast, Taurlaegel; I will see you within, I have a thing I must do first..."   
  
Crossing the threshold into the great entrance-hall, Legolas' eyes and ears ranged swiftly over the bustle of preparation. Over the sounds of hurrying feet, laughter and chatter, he caught the slightly harassed tone he sought; Erestor in urgent consultation with the housekeeper, something about silver plate. Sparing a wry grin for the cares of the overburdened steward, having to oversee two such occasions in as many nights, Legolas approached with his request. Master Elrond, as he had expected, was preparing for the Feast; but if it would please him to go up to the small council-chamber which adjoined the Lord of Imladris' rooms, Erestor would see what might be done.   
  
No breeze stirred the heavy winter drapes which hung at the unglazed windows of the small chamber, or threatened the steady flames of the candles in the wall-sconces; it was going to be a cold, still night of frost, Legolas observed, moving to a window to watch the first stars emerge into the deepening blue of the evening sky. Ithil would soon be rising above the peaks at the head of the valley; that way lay the Greenwood, his land and his kin. He rested his forehead against the cool stone a moment, feeling the cold calm his thumping heart. _What am I doing here?_ he wondered again. _What do I hope to achieve?... What the Powers intend,_ came an answering voice from somewhere deep within, the response ingrained over all the _yéni_ of his life. _Your part in the Song, whatever it may be._ He slowed his breathing, trying to reach out into the valley and the starry night, trying to listen. A moment later, something shifted a fraction in the air behind him, and he swallowed hard. Elrond had come.   
  
The Master of Rivendell stood for a moment in the doorway of his chamber, silently observing the slender figure, still in the worn brown and green of the Wood-elves on this feast night, leaning into the window-frame. No need to announce himself; Legolas, he knew, was well aware of his arrival. Finally, the other turned from his contemplation of the valley.   
  
"Master Elrond. Forgive me this demand upon your time, this night when I know your concerns must be many." The Half-elven did not miss the tension in the younger Elf's voice or in his stance. _Whatever he comes to say, or to ask of me, he is not sure that I will hear him out or grant it!_  
  
"I know you would not call upon me without cause, my friend." Elrond kept his tone neutral, listening and watching. "What is it you would say to me?"   
  
"It - is rather what I would ask, Elrond." A deep breath. "I... you spoke, this morning at the Council, of companions to be sent with the Ring-bearer. To guide and guard him on the way to Mount Doom. I would be numbered among that company, Master Elrond, if you deem it fit." In a rush, the words were out; but Legolas remained on edge, watchful for the lord of Rivendell's response.   
  
Whatever concern or request Elrond might have been expecting, it was not this, he reflected. Veiling his surprise, he found himself beginning the familiar, steady pacing to and fro in the small chamber. _When were the people of Eryn Galen ever interested in Rings of Power? And yet, perhaps, it should not startle me so. The blood of Thranduil and of Oropher, after all, flows in this one's veins._ Only that morning he had had cause to call it to mind: _the Dagorlad, where we had the mastery... but where, I did not add, the greatest warriors of the Greenwood hurled themselves too soon against the black might of Mordor, waiting not on Gil-Galad but only on the word of their lord, and were cut down like the grass. Courage indomitable, without doubt, and hatred of the Darkness as passionate as any Free People's. Yet are those our greatest need in our present peril?_   
  
"I know how many must be at your command in Imladris who have a greater claim than I," Legolas' plea brought Elrond sharply back to the present, "the lord Glorfindel, for one, and many others. Yet I have some skill in arms. And..." he paused, struggle transparent in his clear eyes - "in part my failure has brought us to this pass, Master Elrond. I ask only to try to make that failing good!" He finished with a faint gulp, but would not release Elrond's gaze.   
  
_So that matter of Gollum lies at the heart of this!_ Elrond realised, suppressing the urge to smile. _Have a care you do not overreach yourself, youngling, taking all the woes of Middle-earth so onto your shoulders!_   
  
"I do not ask for your yea or nay now, my lord," Legolas urged, refusing to yield. "But you spoke of sending scouts north, south, east and west at once to seek out the Enemy's strength. I know some of those must be bound to my father's realm. If your mind is made up that the Ringbearer's quest is not my path, let me at least know it before your eastbound scouts go out!"   
  
_All the valour of his grandsire, perhaps; but he is of Thingol's kinship too, and the obstinacy of that line is legendary, as I should well know!_ Elrond observed. _And yet.. from half Middle-earth, Men, Elves, Dwarves and Halflings found their way to this House just in time, it would seem, to take counsel for the peril of the world; and this princeling of the Greenwood came among them. Should such seeming chance be lightly disregarded?_   
  
"This much, Legolas Thranduilion, I will say now," he began, watching his guest's face closely. "It may or may not be that you are called to this quest: it is a heavy task which is laid upon me, this choosing of the Company, and I know not yet my own heart on the matter. But neither can I say that it is not your part to go. If you desire it, then, go not back with the eastbound scouts tomorrow to your father's lands; but rest with us in Imladris, and welcome, and let us hope that all paths may be made clear to me in time."   
  
Legolas let go a long, slow breath, and a little of the tautness went out of his watchful face and his tense frame.   
  
"Master Elrond, my thanks. I would ask no more of you tonight. I will delay you no longer."   
  
Without hesitation he bowed deeply; then in a moment he span around and was gone, and though his retreat was soundless Elrond was sure that the son of the Greenwood was running down the stairs. _If he has not simply climbed out of the first window and down the nearest birch,_ he reflected with a wry smile. _No wonder my folk think him a simple Wood-Elf! And yet, I think, there is more Grey-elven in him than they, or even he, may know..._  
  
With that thought, the lord of Rivendell retreated to his inner chamber, and made his final preparations to preside over the evening's feast.   
  
*******   
  
**Author's Notes:**  
  
_Mae agorech_ \- you have done well.   
_Culagor - cul_ = golden-red, _lagor_ = swift.   
_Taurlaegel - taur_ = forest, _laegel_ = green-elf. _  
Nimloss - nim_ = white, _loss_ = snow

The fall of Oropher and two-thirds of the Silvan Elves under his command before the gates of Mordor is recounted in _Unfinished Tales_ , in Appendix B to the _History of Galadriel and Celeborn_.   
  
My decision to make Legolas distantly kin to Thingol (as well as just, obviously, being a Grey-elf) is stretching the available evidence somewhat, but I hope not beyond all likelihood.   
  
Direct quotes, in quotation marks, of dialogue from the Council are lifted directly from _The Council of Elrond_ , FoTR Book 2 Chapter 2.   
  



	9. Fire and Lamp, and Meat and Bread

Rowanna made her way towards the great Hall as swiftly as the voluminous skirts of her velvet gown would allow, wondering how any woman ever managed to walk properly, swathed in such reams of fabric. Admittedly, the Elves seemed able to make feather-light velvet which yet hung perfectly, and it was thoughtful of Arwen to have chosen the rich wine-red colour, and have the dress made up so that Rowanna might not always have to beg or borrow something to appear in on feast nights.  
  
She turned over in her mind, as she hurried along trying to remember to fit her stride to her skirts, whether she really _had_ really beaten Elrohir back to the stable-yard that afternoon, and not merely been allowed to come home first. On the one hand, she was well aware that probably every Elf in Rivendell rode better than she, never mind Elrond's sons; on the other, Elrohir had been on a borrowed mount, just a day after a hard trek back to the valley, whereas provided the capricious Caradhras allowed his rider to stay on his back, he could outrun any other horse in Elrond's stables. Elrohir was quite capable of letting her think she had won, and then teasing her for it later; but she thought she had seen the faintest trace of annoyance flicker across his face as he dismounted, despite his jesting congratulation. _And how like him,_ she mused, _to wait till I was walking out of the yard to drop on me the news that the twins must leave again this very night!_ He had thrown the remark almost casually over his shoulder as she was turning to go:  
  
"No more races again for some time, _rohiril_ , I fear. Elladan and I are off into the Wilds again tonight..."  
  
"Tonight?" She had whirled on her heel and gazed at him, amazed. "But - you have only just returned! Your mounts are exhausted, you cannot take them out again so soon - and you - "  
  
"Peace, my dear horse-lady!" Elrohir grinned in that maddening fashion he had. "Have no fear for our poor beasts - we go secretly and watchfully, and therefore we go afoot. Estel insists he will go with us, though somehow I suspect he may be persuaded to return before we get far beyond Imladris' borders.. "  
  
 _What was he expecting of me?_ she wondered, as she continued down the hallway. _Tears? Protestations? Was he piqued, after all, at losing a horserace?_ As she stood, still half-stunned, on the straw-strewn cobbles, he had caught up her hand and pressed it suddenly to his lips, surprising her again with the warmth that flowed from him. "Fare well, _rohiril_ \- till we meet again." _He infuriates me one moment, and charms me the next,_ she reflected. _Which I might not mind, but that I suspect he knows it all too well, and does it on purpose to amuse himself watching me flounder!_  
  
Regardless, she decided, it had been an excellent race - though once the horses were rubbed down and made comfortable she had had barely time to wash, change, and let one of the _ellith_ swiftly put up her hair before the soft chiming of bells all over the House announced the gathering for the Feast.   
  
The antechamber to the Hall was already humming with laughter and conversation by the time she arrived, and she halted a moment in the doorway, surveying the throng. The Elf-lords such as Lord Glorfindel were easy to spot; there was his golden head gleaming, and - yes - the dark-haired Elf-woman beside him, carefully nursing a well-wrapped bundle which Rowanna guessed held her harp. There was that visiting Elf from the Grey Havens in the West, deep in conversation with a bearded figure - it took her a moment to recognise the wizard Gandalf, for he had put aside his usual patched grey cloak for an immaculate silver-trimmed robe. Amongst such a crowd she thought there would be no picking out the Hobbits; for a moment, though, amid the forest of bodies, a flash of movement showed her the one called Pippin, reaching up to snatch a sweetmeat from a passing serving-elf's tray before an unseen hand yanked him back out of view. Rowanna repressed a chuckle. The twins and the Chieftain, she noted, were nowhere to be seen.   
  
As the crowd shifted about, her eye was caught by a little group standing rather apart in one corner; _the Dwarves,_ she realised, fascinated, for she had had little opportunity to observe these strange visitors until now. They were in something of a huddle, stout backs for the most part turned to the general hubbub in the hall; the Dwarf who seemed the chief of the group was clad all in white, with a magnificent jewelled chain glinting out from behind his long, forked beard. Nodding earnestly, he was listening intently; _why, that's Bilbo talking to him_! Rowanna realised suddenly, catching sight briefly of her tutor's familiar grey curls bobbing up and down enthusiastically in the midst of the knot of Dwarves. _He does not go in much for feasting as a rule! But of course, he is a Dwarf-friend of old.._.   
  
_"Tiro fennas, brennilen!"_ Rowanna hurriedly moved aside at the impatient _elleth_ 's request to clear the doorway, only to cannon into the solid form of another guest who was just coming in. She was groping for some suitably apologetic Sindarin phrase when, looking up, she realised she had barged into not an Elf, but a Man, whose broad shoulders had barely passed the doorframe.   
  
"Your pardon - my lord!" Switching to the Common tongue, she racked her brains as to who this mortal guest of Rivendell might be. "I was in such haste to get out of the way, I did not see you..."   
  
"It matters not, milady, no harm is done." The stranger dipped his massive bulk towards her in a half-bow. "I do not know how anyone can move in all this mob - I wonder the little ones are not trampled." As he straightened up, a pair of grey eyes appraised her rapidly: _as grey as the Chieftain's,_ Rowanna noted with a start, _and his hair as black! Is this another of the Dúnedain?_   
  
A moment later, however, she discovered that she was mistaken, for the newcomer went on:   
  
"And a good even to you, madam. I am Boromir, of Gondor."   
  
_Gondor!_ For a moment Rowanna gaped, before she could pull herself together and incline her head to him in her turn. She had heard the rumours flying about in the stables, of a horseless rider come before dawn that very morning from the far South, but - Suddenly she remembered where she had heard the name before.   
  
"Boromir? The.. the Lord Steward's son?"   
  
"The same, madam." She felt his gaze on her sharpen like a hawk's. "You know something of my land, then?"   
  
Something about that keen scrutiny made Rowanna uneasy; instinctively, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin to look the powerfully-built Man in the eye. For all the strength in that face, she noticed, there were black shadows beneath his eyes, as though he had been bone-weary not long since.   
  
"A little, my lord, though I was never in the South Kingdom in my life. My name is Rowanna; my father was Halemnar, son of Hyarmenhîr, of Minas Tirith, who fell in service to Éomund of Rohan, the Chief Marshal of the Mark."   
  
"You are Gondorrim?" The Man's eyes widened. "Indeed, I had guessed you were not Elf-kind, milady - but then where have you dwelt all your life if not in your own land? Surely not here in this nest of Elves!"   
  
"Indeed no, my lord, and how I come to be here is another tale in itself," Rowanna countered firmly, "but I was born and bred among the Eorlingas, in the Riddermark!"   
  
"Rohan? - " The great brows drew together in a frown. "Halemnar, you said?..." Once again the piercing grey gaze considered her; before Boromir could say more, however, a bell chimed once more. There was shuffling and murmuring as all turned to the head of the anteroom, where Master Elrond and the Evenstar were making ready to lead the company through the great doors into the Hall. Rowanna's heart unexpectedly lurched as she wondered, suddenly unnerved by the prospect, whether the Steward's heir would feel obliged to escort her in to dinner. To her relief, however, Boromir had evidently been firmly allocated a place in the evening's hierarchy by Erestor. He made his excuses courteously enough, turned on his heel and shouldered his way into the crowd - with one last, appraising backward glance which sent the colour flaring to Rowanna's face.   
  
_Surely he - he would not remember?_ She bit her lip, very glad she was hidden away in the shadows towards the back of the throng. _He cannot have been more than a boy when Father was killed - but he recognised the name of Halemnar, I am sure of it - what if he does recall it? Would it not be the business of the Steward's heir to know the histories of all his City's noble houses, however minor?_ The thought sent a shiver down her spine as it brought a long-buried memory to life. _Mother said, once...her name would still be mud in Minas Tirith, for refusing to return to her dead husband's kin as a grieving widow should!_ She could hear her mother's anger still, ringing down the years: _"Duty to family... love of country... who are they to lay down the law of grief to me? If I choose to stay in the land for which my husband died, to shape my own life here with my child, who shall tell me that such is not my fate?"_  
  
_And now here am I,_ Rowanna realised, _in Boromir's eyes a daughter of Gondor, not merely choosing a life in another land of Men, but consorting with - what did he call them? - this nest of Elves!_  
  
At that moment she would have given anything to turn and run, gown or no gown, out of the antechamber and straight back to the safety of the stables. _What am I doing here?_ she asked herself, and the reply came as surely as though her mother stood at her elbow:  
  
 _"Whatever you choose, child. Come, there is a feast, and music, and tales to look forward to! Now, are you going through that door or are you not?"_  
  
She glanced impatiently down at her skirts to ensure she was not about to trip over her own hems, lifted her chin, and joined the last few Elves following in the flickering torchlight behind Master Elrond and the Evenstar.   
  
***   
  
Imladris' food and drink were indeed as excellent as he remembered from his long-past visits, Legolas admitted as one course was cleared and yet another - elegant, featherlight pastries and silver dishes of succulent forest berries - took its place. Excellent, if more elaborate than he would generally choose except at the royal table on high feast days. Perfectly cooked trout from the Bruinen had been succeeded by roasted meats in exquisite sauces, interspersed with ingenious vegetable dishes for those among the Elves who preferred not to eat flesh; the various Dwarf and Hobbit guests, Legolas observed, had no such scruples, tucking in to everything with a will. He had been watching with amazement one of the _periannath_ on a lower table - Merry he seemed to be called - whose capacity to shovel food into his small frame appeared endless.   
  
_I would give much to be Merry, in more ways than one!_ he reflected wryly. For it would take more than good food and fine wine, he knew, to put him at his ease this night. Erestor had insisted that he be seated at the top table, which meant that he could not take refuge in talking to Taurlaegel, who was elsewhere in the hall. Instead he found himself between Glorfindel and the Ring-bearer, and just across from Mithrandir, who occasionally flashed from beneath his bushy brows a piercing glance as though to ask, _"How came you to fail me, Legolas Greenleaf?"_. So Legolas devoted much of the meal to asking Frodo Baggins about his home, and found that the Shire was a topic on which the Hobbit would happily discourse when he was not asking questions about Mirkwood, and about Bilbo's celebrated visit (for want of a better word) to Thranduil's halls.   
  
Close by at the end of the long table sat the Master of Rivendell, so that Mithrandir and Glorfindel flanked him; _the Star-dome between the Moon and the Sun,_ thought Legolas, startled by his own flight of fancy. _And on the other side, of course, the Evening-star..._ Elrond's daughter appeared serene as ever, though occasionally Legolas noticed her gazing into space as though her mind was elsewhere, and wondered at it. From time to time her eye would catch his, and she would bestow a kindly smile. Arwen, he remembered, was always kind. Her father, however, try as Legolas might to decipher the expression in those hooded grey eyes, was simply inscrutable.   
  
At last, the signal for the end of the meal was given; with Elrond at its head, the company got up in order, and crossed through the great doors to a further hall where a great fire burned in the hearth. Little groups formed, talking and laughing; in one corner minstrels began softly tuning harps.   
  
Curious glances and murmurs rose and fell in the direction of the lone figure, apparently deserted by his esquire, leaning with tightly folded arms against the wall towards one corner.  
  
"Looking as though he'd climbed straight out of a tree - does he have no robe fit for feasting? I thought you said he was a King's son!"   
  
"He is, indeed - I'd tell you to ask him yourself, but he hardly looks as though he wishes to be spoken to, does he?" Just as the hum of conversation dipped for a moment, a laughing reply carried right across the hall;   
  
" Come now, he's a Wood-elf, after all - he'd have more to say to you if you were an oak or a beech!"   
  
Rowanna, to her relief, had managed to avoid any further contact with Boromir of Gondor. Now, seated near the fire with Bilbo, she let her eye rove over the chattering throng, testing her growing understanding of the Grey Tongue by trying to eavesdrop on conversations. Her gaze lit on a solitary Elf leaning against the wall on the far side of the Hall of Fire, and she frowned, trying to place him. She watched him curiously for a few moments, sure she had not seen him before. She had grown used to the languid grace of the folk of Rivendell; though he stood without moving, this one's very stillness felt poised for swift motion, hinting at all the hidden energy of a creature coiled to spring - or to flee.   
  
He was clad differently from any of the Elves around him, too, in simple green and brown instead of the richly coloured silks the Rivendell Elves favoured on high days and holidays. As she gazed, a mocking remark drifted to her ears through a momentary hush, and though she could not catch all its meaning, she knew the tone all too well. She had never yet seen an Elf flush, and doubted the First-born even knew how; but she was sure she saw the corners of the strange Elf's mouth tighten. She felt a sudden wave of anger. _That was Lindir, of course, it would be. Always ready to be witty at another's expense._ She had not yet forgiven him for teasing Bilbo, only the previous night, about all Mortals being as alike as sheep. On impulse, she pulled at the Hobbit's sleeve.   
  
"Bilbo - who is that, on his own there on the other side of the hall?"   
  
"Where?" Bilbo followed her gaze. "Such a crowd - Ah! That, my dear, is Legolas Thranduilion, the Elven-King of Mirkwood's son. He looks a little uncomfortable, doesn't he? Well he might - he didn't exactly endear himself at the Council this morning..."   
  
Rowanna knew little of the Council and nothing of its deliberations, _but I know how it feels to be a stranger, and stared at, and murmured over!_ "Do you know him? Would you present me to him?"   
  
"My dear, it would be my pleasure - after you..." The little Hobbit climbed down from his stool and solicitously ushered Rowanna across the hall.   
  
"Legolas! _Elen síla am lúmen vín govaded, nín mellon._ " Bilbo bowed elaborately. "There is someone here who wishes to meet you."   
  
"Bilbo, _le suilannad,_ " the stranger replied gravely, if more simply. As soon as Bilbo spoke to him he had dropped on to one knee, bringing himself closer to eye level with the Hobbit; Rowanna noticed it, and felt absurdly pleased at this small counterweight to Lindir's careless disregard.   
  
"Allow me to present my good friend Rowanna, who is distantly kin to Master Elrond and at present his guest here in Rivendell," Bilbo went on in his most formal mode. "Rowanna; Legolas Thranduilion, of the Woodland Realm."   
  
" _Mae govannen, nín hîr,_ " Rowanna managed in careful Sindarin. Bilbo's somewhat flowery greetings were not, she felt, much suited to her style, even had her command of the Grey Tongue permitted them.   
  
The Elven-king's son rose to his feet again in one smooth movement. For an instant, as his eyes met Rowanna's, they widened in an expression which she could not read; but he bowed over her hand, and said something too quick for Rowanna to catch. Her confusion must have showed in her face, she realised, for he caught himself and switched swiftly to the Common Speech.   
  
"Forgive me, _brennilen,_ I see I go too fast for you. I asked that you use no titles with me; please, call me just Legolas. I am not used to speaking with Mortals who have learnt our tongue!" He smiled suddenly. "May I ask who has taught you?"   
  
"Bilbo is teaching me." Rowanna looked down affectionately at the Hobbit, who nodded proudly at his pupil. "Though I can barely string two sentences together as yet, and he will hasten to tell you that my manglings of the Grey Tongue are all my own invention and are none of his doing!"   
  
Legolas threw back his head and laughed aloud, his eyes sparkling, and Rowanna felt the warmth washing over her as though the sun had emerged from a cloud. His merriment was infectious, and she laughed with him - at which his mood changed suddenly again, and he cocked his head on one side, looking at her curiously.   
  
"Tell me, _brennilen_ \- did you by any chance go out riding this afternoon?"   
  
"Why, yes -" Rowanna admitted; but before she could continue, Bilbo broke hastily in.   
  
"Forgive me, my dear, but if you and Legolas are going to get on to the subject of horseflesh, I will gladly leave you to it; you know my views on any hooved creature larger than a pony! If you will pardon me," - he nodded to Legolas - "I must make sure my rascally Took and Brandybuck kin are not creating too much havoc..." He wandered off into the crowd, humming to himself. The Elf chuckled.   
  
"I take it Bilbo has no great interest in horses! Tell me though, my lady - you were coming down the river-meadow just before sundown?"   
  
"Elrohir and I were exercising a couple of restless beasts for Brethil, the head groom. Were you out along the valley? I did not see you..."   
  
"I was up a tree," said Legolas easily, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. _And for a Wood-elf,_ Rowanna realised, _it probably is..._ "My esquire and I saw the pair of you fly by; Taurlaegel was backing you to beat Elrohir, for he was introduced to your mount - Caradhras, was it not? - in the stable-yard this morning. It looked to be a good race!"   
  
She nodded vigorously. "An excellent race. It is so good to gallop at full tilt like that again!" He raised an enquiring eyebrow, and she hesitated before she went on: "I was - not able to ride, for a long time, and this afternoon I remembered what a joy it can be. When.. when I first came to Rivendell, I was very ill, and it is thanks to Master Elrond that you see me in health as you do." _There, I have said it_. She braced herself for the familiar, faint shudder of Elven distaste. It did not come. Legolas gazed at her a moment - they were almost of a height, she noticed, and his blue-grey eyes met hers levelly - and said simply,   
  
"I am glad then, lady, that you were able to reach Imladris and receive full healing." Then his swift smile came again. "Tell me though about this stallion of Elrond's. Is the rumour Taurlaegel tells me true - that he once tried to throw Lord Glorfindel?"   
  
"I am told he _tried_ , once." Rowanna grinned as she remembered the tale. "He did not attempt it again! He is the most capricious beast I ever knew, and seems to take in favour or against his riders entirely on a whim. It's pure chance he has decided he likes me, and has never tried to get me off his back - I doubt I could stay on long if he did!"  
  
"But are not the folk of Rohan famous horse-lords?" the Wood-Elf enquired curiously. Rowanna chuckled in delight.  
  
"Does the fame of the Riddermark then reach even to your northern woods? Even so, an Elven stallion in a temper stretches all my skill, I assure you!"  
  
Conversation rose and fell about them in the hall. Soon afterwards, one of the harpists slipped smoothly from her sprinkling of tuning-chords into a flowing accompaniment; an Elf whose long black hair fell unbraided down his back stepped forward to face the listeners, and the singing began. Nothing stirred but the flames of candle and torch; the whole hall was in rapt silence, and Legolas and Rowanna perched motionless on a couple of stools, leaning forward intently to listen. To begin with, Rowanna tried hard to decipher the words of the song - she gathered that it was about the Blessed Realm, which Bilbo had spoken of, and caught the names of several of the Valar - but soon the pure beauty of the endless stream of notes carried her away, and she let herself drift, absorbing such meaning as she could from the music's tone and flow.  
  
At last the singer's clear, cool melody drew to a close; the harpist's final notes rippled into a long, deep stillness, out of which at length appreciative murmurs rose. A few of the company got up and moved about the hall; Rowanna saw with unease the bear-like figure of Boromir of Gondor, on his feet and working through the crowd towards them. To her relief, she caught sight of Bilbo on the other side of the hall, signalling for her to join him and Frodo.   
  
"I must go to Bilbo, Legolas. Will you join me?" The Wood-elf shook his head, though his smile sparkled in his eyes.   
  
"Thank you, _brennilen_ , but no; the stars are up, and I think it is time I was among the trees!" He was swiftly on his feet, giving her his hand to rise. "Until another time, lady; goodnight..." He cast her one final smiling glance of - pleasure? amusement? she could not read it - and was gone.  
  
As she reached the Hobbits, Rowanna turned back to look for Legolas; but large though the Hall was, he already seemed to have vanished entirely as though he had never been there. _Back to his beloved woods!_ she thought with a smile. _May he have joy of them... more than he found in this company, at any rate._  
  
By the time she was seated alongside Bilbo and Frodo, and Bilbo was explaining to both his eager listeners the history and meaning of the song they had heard, Legolas had slipped silently through the great doors, through the shadows of the great entrance-hall, and was turning his face up to the starlight with a sigh of relief. Shaking his head with a smile, he broke into a run, away from the House, towards the familiar dark shapes of the oak and beech rising from the valley slopes.   
  
*******   
  
**Author's Notes:**  
  
_Tiro fennas, brennilen!_ \- "Watch the doorway, my lady!"   
  
_Elen síla am lúmen vín govaded_ \- a star shines upon the time of our meeting _(Elen_ and _lúmen_ are Old Sindarin, according to Ardalambion. I have a hunch Bilbo might have a bit of a poetical affection for the slightly flowerier-sounding O.S.)   
  
_Le suilannad_ \- lit. "To you greeting".   
  
_Mae govannen, nín hîr_ = "Well met, my lord".

The idea that Elves show appreciation of a fine musical or poetic performance with deep silence, rather than applause, was borrowed from Philosopher at Large.


	10. With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men

"...bad business, Bilbo. A bad business! To find that after all even the last of the Seven has fallen into the hands of the Enemy - and as for this last Ring; _but a trifle that Sauron fancies_ , indeed! Pah! And we are to send it to the fire?..."  
  
The guttural accents of the Common Speech carrying indignantly through the half-open door told Rowanna, even as she raised her hand to knock, that Bilbo was not alone in his room; and indeed, through the gap in the doorway she caught a glimpse of a long white beard. The Dwarf's talk of rings started curiosity pricking at the back of her mind, and the thought of interrupting him made her faintly nervous. However, since Bilbo had had no time for lessons since the great Council several days ago, and Rowanna had only passed by on her way from the stables to ask whether she should come to the library that afternoon, she took a deep breath and rapped firmly at the door.  
  
"Come in!" the Hobbit responded cheerily. "Ah! How splendid to see you, my dear - come in, come in, and have a seat. Look, you are just in time for elevenses - now, don't think of refusing," as Rowanna hastily began to demur, "I know how hungry you always are after a morning mucking out!"  
  
Indeed, as Rowanna now saw, Bilbo's small tea-table was groaning with trays of cakes and biscuits; a litter of crumbs adorned the Hobbit's own plate, and in the centre of the table stood a steaming pot from which the most extraordinary smell was emanating, rich and bitter both at once, making her think of burnt earth and baking sun. Anxious as she was not to intrude, she felt her mouth beginning to water.  
  
"I can't stay, Bilbo - I only wished to ask you about this afternoon's lesson - " Bilbo, however, was now launched upon the full round of formal courtesies, and not to be gainsaid.  
  
"Rowanna, you have not yet been introduced to any of our guests from Erebor, have you? - allow me to present my very old friend Glóin son of Gróin, of the Lonely Mountain far in the East, and Glóin's son Gimli. My friends; the lady Rowanna of Rohan, who is a distant kinswoman of Master Elrond's through the mortal line, and has the good - or ill! fortune to be at present a pupil of mine..."  
  
Had those bushy white eyebrows shot up for the merest moment? Impossible to say, Rowanna realised with a flash of amusement, given the profusion of beard and brow and braided hair which covered most of the Dwarf's face. Glóin levered himself to his feet with a little difficulty - he had taken one of the hobbit-sized chairs, Rowanna observed; presumably the seats Bilbo kept for Elven friends were uncomfortably high for this guest. Nonetheless, as Glóin got up she felt a little intimidated by the sense of sheer, craggy mass he brought to bear even as she noted that he came not much higher than her elbow. Glóin's son had remained in his seat as though truly turned to stone; the beginning of a low rumble from the older Dwarf brought him, too, scrambling hastily to his feet.  
  
"It is an honour, Madam," Glóin announced, "to be acquainted with any friend of my esteemed companion Bilbo; my son Gimli and I are at your service and your family's."  
  
"And I at yours, Master Glóin," responded Rowanna, relieved that she at least knew by now the proper form for such an exchange; she inclined her head somewhat hastily, for there was something in the Dwarf's flinty expression which made her distinctly uncomfortable. _Does he guess that I heard what he was saying about Rings?_ she wondered, hastily composing herself while Bilbo, not appearing to notice anything amiss, pulled out a chair for her and began to pile slices of cake on to a plate.  
  
To mask her confusion, she busied herself with elevenses in silence for a few moments, content to listen as Bilbo and Glóin discussed the doings of the Dwarves far in the East. She had by now realised that the Lonely Mountain Bilbo spoke of was the very same one which had featured in his adventures with the dragon of long ago, and indeed that the formidable white-bearded dwarf seated across from her must be the Glóin who had turned up on Bilbo's doorstep for the famous tea-party. _Another old tale brought to life here in Rivendell!_ she mused. _And yet... from the way Bilbo told that story, he and Glóin were both in their prime when they travelled all the way from the Shire to the Mountain, and I thought dwarves were longer-lived than Men and Hobbits both. But Glóin looks far older than Bilbo..._   
  
"How many years would it be now, Bilbo, since last you journeyed to Dale?" Glóin queried.  
  
"Oh, a fair few - I lose track of time here, old friend, as well you know," Bilbo admitted. "A dozen or more, I dare say. Your folk were just completing the third hall for King Brand, and there was some tremendous to-do or other going on about the stonework and whether or not the pillars, all carved like great oaks, would be strong enough to take the weight of the roof..."  
  
"I remember!" Laughter began somewhere deep in Glóin's solid form and rose, like the very earth trembling, slowly to the surface. "Not hold indeed! Of course they held. We had worked pillars twice the height of those and more in King Dáin's great hall under the Mountain, and the rock we used in Dale was not so different. How I loved watching those carvings growing, Bilbo, leaf and branch slowly spreading out across the ceilings! And were the fountains finished then? Dár and his water-workers were puzzling, about that time, over how to bring water to the top end of the town in enough quantity to show them off as he wished, if memory serves me..."  
  
"No, they weren't done. Dár was very insistent that he would crack the problem, though, and that I should come back one day to see his works soaring in all their glory into Dale's summer skies!" Bilbo chuckled.  
  
"And so you should, my friend," Glóin prodded gently. "Come, what say you, another journey to the Long Lake?"  
  
"Ah, Glóin, my journeying days are behind me, I fear," Bilbo sighed, looking a little wistful. _And suddenly,_ Rowanna realised with a small shiver, _he seems much, much older... What is it that troubles him?..._  
  
Unable to fathom it, she turned to try to engage the younger Dwarf, Gimli, in conversation, asking about their journey from the East and the care of their ponies. She quickly realised, however, that Glóin's son was distinctly uncomfortable; perhaps he found her Westron as difficult as she did his gruff accents, for while his answers were polite enough they stretched no further than two or three words, and the silences following each became longer and more strained. _But he understands Bilbo well enough,_ Rowanna thought, puzzled. _Why should I make him so ill-at-ease?_  
  
A moment later, as Gimli managed another strained "No - Madam..." while staring fixedly at his feet, understanding broke in on her in a mortified wave. Something Bilbo had told her about the ways of Glóin's people leapt to mind; Dwarf-women, who were said to be few in number and almost revered by their people, rarely ventured abroad and were jealously protected by their menfolk. _Clearly a respectable Dwarf's idea of a lady does not encompass straw in the hair or smelling of horse - and certainly not barging in on an all-male gathering taking tea!_ she realised with an inward groan. _So yet again I am thought at least eccentric, if not worse..._  
  
Casting around urgently for escape, she dived with relief into a lull in Bilbo and Glóin's discussion, and asked about the extraordinary smell emanating from the pot on the table. With a chuckle, the Hobbit reached for a cup and poured a little of a steaming liquid whose colour proved as earthy as its smell.  
  
"Coffee, my dear! made from beans grown in the far South of Middle-earth; Glóin very kindly brought it for me. It was one of my regular treats back in the Shire, but I hadn't drunk it for an age - Elrond's folk don't appear to have much liking for it. The Dwarves have taken it along the Road between Erebor and the Blue Mountains for many a long year. It's something of an acquired taste, though - here, sweeten it with a little honey and see what you think of it..."  
  
"Not so much coffee being carried along the Road these days, Bilbo, I fear," Glóin sighed as Rowanna cautiously sniffed, then sipped, at the strange drink, feeling the bitter yet powerful warmth spreading into the pit of her stomach. "More of our folk are turning their faces to the West than ever return - but now is not the time to speak of such things," he added hastily as Bilbo raised an eyebrow.   
  
"If the Road through Mirkwood were guarded by better than _Wood-elves_ -" the other Dwarf suddenly burst out.  
  
"Now is _not_ the time, Gimli, nor is this the place!" his father rumbled, and Rowanna was sure that Glóin's frown to his errant son was intended to remind Gimli of her presence.  
  
Gimli uttered a strange, harsh protest in what Rowanna guessed must be the Dwarvish tongue, only to be cut off fiercely.  
  
" _Enough_ , I said!" This time Glóin's barely-restrained roar subdued the conversation entirely. Feeling more and more in the way, Rowanna hastily turned to her tutor.   
  
"Bilbo, I really must go - I wanted only to ask you whether you wished to see me for a lesson this afternoon?"  
  
"Oh, now, let me see -" the little Hobbit looked momentarily flustered - "I really don't think we can manage it this afternoon, my dear, I'm afraid. I did promise Frodo that we'd take a walk up above the Falls now that he's feeling so much stronger. But tomorrow we must certainly resume - you'll be forgetting everything we've studied!"  
  
Suppressing her pang of disappointment, Rowanna promised that she would, indeed, see her tutor in the library on the morrow. Excusing herself to the two Dwarves, who hastily rose and bowed, she backed into the corridor and, heaving a sigh of relief, made her escape.  
  
Long, impatient strides carried her nearly from one end of the Last Homely House to the other before Rowanna stopped to reflect on where she might be going. Bilbo's room was towards the end of the House which backed on to the rising slope behind it, so that although his windows were close to the ground - which she supposed must suit a Hobbit very well - his room was in fact on the first floor; by following the passageway towards the front of the house, she began to pass the various spiralling staircases which descended to gardens, stables or kitchens. _Bilbo, it seems, has no use for me today,_ she realised with a sigh. _Nor were my attempts to be welcoming to Gimli son of Glóin a resounding success!_   
  
She propped her elbows on a window-ledge, shifting them until among the exquisitely carved tendrils of twining leaves she found a smooth enough spot to rest her weight, and sighed as she contemplated the glorious reds and golds of the valley slopes. _I thought I had grown used to being looked on as an oddity,_ she admitted ruefully, _after the years of the Eorlingas wondering at the little black-haired Gondorian girl who wanted to train horses - let alone Elrond's folk, who are kindly enough, but for whom I shall always be one of the Sickly Ones..._ She grimaced at the aptness of the nickname. _But Bilbo has been so good to me, and dealt with me on such equal terms, I suppose I had begun to forget what a stranger I am here... to Dwarves as well as to Elves, it seems._  
  
As she gazed, movement below caught her eye; leaning against one of the carved stone balustrades which guarded the garden terraces she noticed a solitary figure, broad shoulders braced as though to ward off the world as he in his turn stared out over the valley. _The Steward's son..._ She had managed to avoid the Man in the days following their disconcerting encounter without too much difficulty, for he seemed to be keeping very much his own counsel, and had been little seen around stable-yard or house. _If anything, he looks even more the stranger here than I,_ Rowanna realised suddenly as she watched him. _It seems the "nest of Elves" is not greatly to his liking..._ She wondered for a brief moment, guiltily, if she should have tried to show more solidarity with a fellow Mortal, should have sought Boromir out since the Feast; but remembering his steely appraisal of her, that idea provoked a faint shiver down her spine. _And have him remember any more about Mother's "disloyalty to Gondor", my girl? Besides, however strange he might find his surroundings, I dare say the heir to the Steward of Gondor has come to seek counsel with rather weightier folk than one of Elrond's lesser houseguests!_  
  
No, she concluded, Boromir had no need of her company; but the thought had shaken her out of her self-pitying mood. _If Bilbo has other concerns today, there's still no need to mope about uselessly!_ The day was clear and sunny, if none too warm, and there was no need to keep to the House. Shaking herself from her reverie, she marched down the passageway once more and turned down a staircase which she knew would bring her out into the gardens.  
  
*******  
  
 **Author's Note:**  
  
I admit to shamelessly cribbing the idea of coffee as a Dwarven drink from Anglachel, queen of writers on Dwarves, in her fantastic "[On Merry Yule](http://astele.co.uk/stories/chapter.cfm?stid=712)" story. (Though coffee features in _The Hobbit_ , so we do know it's canonical in any case.)


	11. Deep Roots Are Not Reached by the Frost

Slipping out of one of the Last Homely House's numerous side-doors, Rowanna began to descend along the terraces that dropped steeply down the valley's side. Though there was sunlight slanting across the gardens, the air bit her skin crisply; she took a deep, glad breath and determined to dwell no longer on her uncomfortable encounter with the Dwarves. _They did not mean to discomfit you,_ she told herself firmly, remembering what Bilbo had told her of the punctilious Dwarven sense of social nicety. _They have never encountered anyone like you before, that is all - and you've spent half your life confounding other people's expectations, so why let it trouble you now?_  
  
Glancing through a well-manicured gap in the box hedges, she caught sight of an Elf on his knees beside the flower-beds, tenderly wrapping a length of some fleecy fabric around the base of a plant. From somewhere beside him an eager voice drifted up:  
  
"Why, that's just like I'd do back home in the Shire, to keep the frost from getting to Mr. Bilbo's laburnums - only I'd be using sacking, o'course, having none o' this special Elven stuff..."  
  
 _Samwise,_ she thought, smiling to herself. _Frodo's gardening-boy._ Clearly, even in a place as strange and magical as Rivendell must seem to him, Sam had quickly found where he belonged. Sighing, she left the two gardeners happily sharing their craft, and drifted on down towards the valley floor.   
  
It had occurred to her that she might find Arwen on the more sheltered lower slopes, for Rowanna knew that the Evenstar loved to sit and breathe the heady scents in the rose-gardens, where a few late blooms were yet lingering; and she thought the upheaval to the household of the last few days, with every duty from tending the sick to welcoming unexpected guests, might have left Elrond's daughter in need of a little quiet reflection. Indeed, as she rounded a corner Rowanna did glimpse the back of a dark head amongst the nearly-bare rosebushes, which were dropping their last few petals slowly to the ground like great velvet tears. Only as she started forward did she realise that it was not Arwen who sat gazing out to the far hills; but even as she began to move, soundlessly she thought, to retreat again, a hoarse voice asked:

"Will you not stay a little, my lady Dúnadaneth?"  
  
"H-how did you - I mean - " she stammered, but got no further; for just at that moment the Man Aragorn swung around on his seat, and looked her full in the face.   
  
Rowanna stood a moment dumbfounded. She could not break with his gaze, clear and intense as a dawn sky; _Men would follow you even down to the dead_ , she found herself thinking, _if you asked it of them_. Finally she managed to incline her head and to murmur hoarsely:  
  
 _"Chieftain..."_  
  
For a long moment they looked at each other. Finally Aragorn spoke.  
  
"Come, lady; do not stand while I sit at my ease," he urged, indicating she should take a seat beside him on the bench. "Chieftain of the Dúnedain I may be, yet Master Elrond's writ runs here, not mine." She thought one corner of his mouth twitched as though at a private jest; she smiled, a little shakily, and did as she was bidden.   
  
"To answer the question you did not quite ask," he went on, "your footfall is not that of Elf, or Dwarf or Hobbit, and mortal women are hardly numerous in Master Elrond's house. You were pointed out to me in the Hall of Fire a few nights past, by one who thought I would be glad to know of a kinswoman among us in Imladris."  
  
"You - you called me _Dúnadaneth_ , my lord..."  
  
"And so you are, if my informant had the truth of it, are you not?" he challenged gently with a smile. "Rowanna, daughter of Míranna of the Dúnedain and Halemnar of Minas Tirith; born of Arnor and Gondor, but a child of the plains of Rohan. Which of all these are you, then, lady?"  
  
"Since I came to Rivendell, my lord, I have begun to wonder that myself!" Rowanna admitted ruefully. _Bilbo,_ she realised. _Of course - 'my friend the Dúnadan'! He has been talking to Bilbo!..._  
  
"It is not an easy fate, to belong to many peoples and none," the Chieftain agreed gravely, "for there may be a hard choice to be made, in the end." His gaze drifted away to the far slopes again for a moment. Then, turning to her again, he added gently: "Your father was a valiant man. It grieved me to hear that he had met such an end so young."  
  
Rowanna shot him a startled glance. How old _was_ the Chieftain, in truth? Could he?-   
  
"I served the Steward in the White City, once," Aragorn said as though reading her thought. "Halemnar son of Hyarmenhîr was accounted a good man with a sword, among the warriors of Gondor - and a fine horseman, which is a rarer skill in that land. I always wondered whether it was that which sent him north to lend his service to the Riddermark..."  
  
 _Few call it the Riddermark who do not know and love it!_ she thought. She voiced her guess. "You have been in the Mark then also, my lord?"  
  
He smiled at her then, lending warmth to his grave features so that her heart suddenly swelled, a child praised by a parent for quick wits. "Indeed! I have ridden with the _eoreds_ , too, in my time. And dearly I loved that land of horse-lords, whose plains roll vast and smooth as the sea."  
  
They kept companionable silence for a few moments, as the roses released the last of their glorious scent to the autumn sun. Then a thought struck Rowanna. "Chieftain - I heard that you had gone out from the valley scouting with Master Elrond's sons. Are Elladan and Elrohir returned, then?" Aragorn shook his head.   
  
"They have long yet to go, even for their swift feet, before they reach their destination. I left them well enough, though, and -" another swift smile lit up his face - "Elrohir particularly asked to be remembered to you. I was asked to tell you 'to challenge no-one else to a horse-race until he had avenged his defeat'!"  
  
Rowanna snorted. "It seems that race rankles a little with Elrohir! He need have no fear, for few ride with me since he is gone; even Arwen has no time these days..."   
  
Something Rowanna could not read flickered suddenly in the Chieftain's eyes at the mention of the Evenstar's name. Then all at once she remembered the meeting of grey eyes over the heads of frightened, travelstained Halflings the night of their coming from the Ford, and a hot wave of mortification swept up and over her face. _Arwen. The Chieftain is here in the rosegarden - a spot she loves - waiting for Arwen! And I prattle on like a fool about riding races with Elrohir!_  
  
"My lord, I - forgive me - " she mumbled, getting hastily to her feet. "I will trespass no longer upon your time..."  
  
The Chieftain looked briefly puzzled, but nodded. "Very well, kinswoman." As Rowanna flushed deeper, he added, "for so you are, distantly, are you not? Fare you well, until another time."  
  
As she passed out of the rose-garden she glanced back for a moment. She thought she saw a brief flash of silver-grey between the further hedges; the Chieftain leapt to his feet, the meeting with Rowanna clearly forgotten, and turned eagerly towards the garden's entrance. Feeling her cheeks burning once again, Rowanna hurried away, down towards the river.  
  
***  
  
Sunlight danced and rippled through the branches of the beech-tree under which Rowanna lay, her head tucked into a convenient cleft in the tree's roots and pillowed by a fold of her cloak. She barely heard the Bruinen rushing and gurgling down the valley below as she gazed unseeing up into the rustling red-gold dome of leaves, their light and shadow dancing and mingling.   
_  
Dearly I loved that land of horse-lords, whose plains roll vast and smooth as the sea..._  
  
Aragorn had thought to put her at her ease; but at his words homesickness had swelled in her heart as though a band tightened around her chest, bringing with it thoughts which Rowanna had for weeks been doing her best to quell as often as they arose, of farmstead, herds and - most of all - her surely-anxious mother. _From what the stable-hands say, the snows will have closed the high passes before long - that's why there has been such haste to get all these scouting-parties out; and I am strong enough now to manage a short gallop down the water-meadow well enough, but to trek home for weeks across the mountains and the wastelands between would be another test entirely! At least I know that Béodred got as far as Lórien in safety; he must surely have made it back to the Mark from there and got word to Mother... Stop it now; best not to think of it at all, since there's no hope of going home till spring._  
  
Something more, though, had been unsettling her as she climbed the slope into the forest, ignoring the rising and falling murmur of Elven songs and calls in the trees around her, trying to seize a thought which was nudging at the corner of her mind. What was it? Something she had remembered earlier - something said by the Steward's son?... _Nest of Elves. "What do you do here in this nest of Elves?.."_ For some time she had been trying to tease out what it was about the remark that troubled her; only as she passed further up the forested slopes, dead leaves beginning to crunch beneath her feet, had memory served, with sudden understanding that made her stomach briefly lurch.   
_  
Elves._ "They're weavers of spells, 'tis well known. There's a witch-queen rules over them in the Golden Wood, who catches travellers in her nets and never lets them leave..."   
  
How often had she heard such words spoken in the Mark, and never paid any heed? It had made Mother angry, to be sure; "superstitious nonsense," she had called it, insisting whenever Rowanna asked her that the Firstborn were a noble and good race, kin to her forefathers the Dúnedain from afar, and that if any still remained in the Golden Wood or in Rivendell then they practised no sorcery, only arts of healing and works of craft. Rowanna had shrugged and smiled, choosing perhaps to prefer her mother's fairytales over the others.   
_  
But now... I have seen the Firstborn, lived among them, spoken with lords of the Eldar. Master Elrond's children have befriended me; and more, Elrond made me well when I was sick nearly to death. The Elves, the Half-elven, the Chieftain of my kin the Dúnedain, who was fostered here in Rivendell - would they all be mistrusted and feared by the Eorlingas, by my own people?_   
  
_My people?_ Again the Chieftain's words echoed in her ears, and she wondered at just how much, in the briefest of meetings, those grey eyes had seen: "Born of Arnor and Gondor, but a child of the plains of Rohan. Which of all these are you, then, lady?" _I wish I knew!_ Rowanna thought bitterly, picking irritably with one finger at a scrap of bark flaking loose from the root under her hand. It came free, and she continued absently pulling at the surrounding bark and tossing the pieces which broke away into the leaf-mould covering the ground around her.   
  
"Stop it!"   
  
The voice came out of nowhere, bringing Rowanna to her senses with a gasp as she scanned the woods around her for its source. _Somewhere overhead - in the tree..._ Then she saw; the patterns of light and shade, golden leaf and grey-green bark, resolved themselves into a figure curled in a cleft of the branches directly above her head, and with a start she recognised him. _The Elf from Mirkwood - Legolas. He was there all along - he must have been. I have been staring straight at him this half-hour and more, and never even saw him!_  
  
"What evil has this poor tree done you, lady, that you should wound it so?"   
  
She realised belatedly what she had been doing to the beech's root and called out, guiltily,   
  
"I'm - I am sorry, I was paying no attention..."   
  
"I am glad to hear it," he retorted. "I would not like to think that you would knowingly injure any growing thing to so little purpose!"   
  
_This seems to be a day for making a fool of myself_ , she thought. "I did not know you were there..."   
  
The stern tones from above seemed to soften a little. "Forgive me; I did not intend to startle you." Then the shadows suddenly shifted, as with one smooth movement he rolled clear of the branch and dropped noiselessly to the forest floor beside her. "There is a spider up there spinning such an intricate web; she has been working for hours, and I did not want to disturb her before she had finished, for it is a beautiful piece of work, all glistening in the sunlight. Come, you should see - " He made as if to leap for the branch again, but Rowanna hastily forestalled him.   
  
"No - no, thank you, Legolas, but I am no climber!"   
  
"You do not climb trees?" For a moment the Elf seemed amazed; then he shook his head and laughed aloud. "Your pardon, lady, again. I am little used to the ways of Mortal women; my folk deal from time to time in war or trade with the Men of Dale, but the Lakemen always seem for some reason to keep their women and children indoors when they hear that the People of the Wood are coming to their town..."  
  
 _And no wonder!_ thought Rowanna; for a moment the months of familiarity which had dulled her continual amazement at the Firstborn melted away, and she saw Legolas as the Lakemen would look on an Elf, impossibly fair, radiating the faint strange glimmer that so bewitched mortal eyes.  
  
"A pity though," the Elf went on, "it is a fine web!" He sank to the ground instead to sit beside her, folding long legs neatly beneath him. "What troubles you so, that you would strip my friend the beech of half his bark before you even noticed?"   
  
His open face seemed to hold only sympathy and interest; but long weeks in Rivendell had made Rowanna wary of reading an Elf's expression, since she had mistaken mere teasing for genuine concern too many times. Rather than voicing her troubled thoughts about her homeland, therefore, she told Legolas briefly about her uncomfortable encounter with Glóin and Gimli. The Elf sighed.   
  
"My dealings with the Naugrim have not been many, but they have always seemed to me a rough race, and hard as the stone they are hewn from. Lovers only of gold and jewels, with no care for the beauty of living things..."   
  
Remembering Glóin's passionate description of the splendours of leaf and branch carved into the stone of Brand's halls, Rowanna wondered if this was entirely fair; but she was in no mood to leap to the Dwarf's defence, and let the remark pass. Feeling somehow slightly guilty, she was casting around for a change of subject, when suddenly a thought struck her.   
  
"Legolas - this morning in the stables we were readying mounts for a scouting party heading East; we were up and about it before first light, for Brethil said the riders would be making for the High Pass into the Misty Mountains, and must profit from every hour of the daylight. I thought he said they were bound for King Thranduil's realm - but I must have mistaken him?..."   
  
"Because I am still here?" A wry smile pulled at the corners of the Elf's mouth for a moment. "No, you did not mistake. Taurlaegel, and our beasts, and messengers from Master Elrond to my father are gone East without me."   
  
"You follow them later, then?" Rowanna frowned suddenly. "But - _our beasts_ , you said! And - that handsome chestnut, he is yours, is he not? Brethil told the hands they need not trouble with his gear or hooves, for you had already seen to him! Surely..."   
  
"I would not send Culagor back to the Greenwood ridden by another?" He smiled ruefully at her shocked face. "Not joyfully, I promise you. I had a good deal of explaining to do before dawn as I readied him, and he liked it not at all! But needs must; I would not leave him in Imladris among strangers, and if my path now truly lies as I see it before me, it may be long before I come to my father's halls again, or walk beneath the trees of my home..."   
  
He tailed off, gazing at the slow fall of the dying leaves; _has he forgotten I am even here?_ Rowanna wondered, wishing Elven expressions were not so hard to read. After a long moment she asked tentatively, "Then why bring Culagor on the outward journey here?"   
  
She thought he had not heard; then slowly he turned back to her, seeming somehow troubled, as though clouds darkened the clear sky of his face. "I rode down into the valley four days ago thinking that I would be back under Greenwood's eaves before the last leaf-fall; for I came with a simple enough task, though not one which gladdened my heart." He grimaced briefly, and she remembered Bilbo's words; _he didn't exactly endear himself at the Council..._ He went on softly, as though to himself; "But now all is changed; the Song fills with discord, and my part is altered beyond all imagining."   
  
_I am lost,_ Rowanna sighed. _Why must Elves speak so often in riddles?_ "The Song?..."   
  
"The Song, the Music," then as she still frowned, "the harmonies of which Eä itself is woven. Do not Men speak so of the powers that shape their lives?" He threw her a curious look.   
  
"Not that I ever heard," she shook her head, "not the Men of the Riddermark at any rate! An Eorling would tell you that 'a good horse knows his own rider, and a good rider knows his own path...' "   
  
Legolas threw his head back and laughed, and Rowanna wondered again at the quicksilver changes of his mood. 

"Horses again - always horses for the Rohirrim! Whereas we Wood-elves might say 'to some the beech, to others the elm'; and I suppose Elrond's Deep-elves would turn their noses up even at that and mutter that trees are all we ever think about..." he observed, and Rowanna remembered the cutting remark of Lindir's she had only half-caught on the night of the Council. _I am lost again_ , she reflected; _Wood-elves, Deep-elves; I thought Elves were Elves and that was that!_ She found herself unaccountably cheered by Legolas' light heart, however, and laughed in her turn. As she did so, she noticed her own breath steaming in the air, and realised that the evening's chill was descending and the sun about to set.   
  
"If we do not hurry there will be no dinner left!" She struggled to scramble upright, her boots slipping in the damp leaves, and found a hand extended to her by the Elf, who was already on his feet.   
  
"I will live without dinner, I think," he replied, "for one feast of Master Elrond's is food and crowd enough for a week, and these woods are all the company I need tonight. But let me walk with you down to the House."   
  
***   
  
It was on the following morning, after their formal lesson was concluded, that Rowanna took the opportunity to question Bilbo about the different clans of the First-born. As she had suspected, her tutor had a great deal to say on the matter once he got going.   
  
"It all comes back to the call to go to Aman - you remember, the Great Journey," Bilbo began. Rowanna nodded, cudgelling her memory for that particular history lesson. "The descendents of those who answered the Summons of the Valar still have the right to travel the Straight Road into the West; some, like Círdan's Falathrim, feel the call of the Sea so strongly that they cannot bear to dwell away from the coastlands for long. In others, like the Grey-elves, they say that the Sea-longing slumbers deep, but once awoken, can never be assuaged..."   
  
There was a good deal more, however, and as Bilbo discoursed on Calaquendi and Moriquendi, Úmanyar and Avari, Rowanna soon felt hopelessly lost.   
  
".. so the Wood-elves, like Legolas, are descended from the Teleri who did begin the Great Journey, but never actually set sail?"   
  
"Yes, and no," Bilbo refilled his coffee-cup. "Many of the Wood-elves were Teler originally, yes - and the Teleri are Eldar, they did set off to Aman - but according to all I've read, they have mixed with all sorts of Avari over the centuries; I suspect that's why some in Rivendell tend rather to look down on them. So things are not exactly cut and dried. And in any case, my dear girl, what makes you think Legolas Thranduilion is a Wood-elf? Do you not remember what we learnt about Elu Thingol and the Sindar?"   
  
"But he is a Wood-elf!" Rowanna protested. "He called himself so!"   
  
"Did he now?" Bilbo looked interested. "Well, his house has ruled over Wood-elves for an Age, and perhaps they have gone rather native there in the depths of Mirkwood - many of Elrond's folk would say so, certainly. Nonetheless," he waved his cup for emphasis, the rich earthy drink threatening to spill over, "Legolas is Oropher's grandson; he's Sindar, a Grey-elf, whether he thinks so or not." He sat back in his armchair, looking thoroughly satisfied at having made his case; just then Meriadoc and Peregrin came bursting in with great commotion, Pippin in search of cake and Merry anxious to prevent him interrupting, and all thought of Grey-elf and Green-elf, woodland and sea, was forgotten.   
  
******   
  
**Author's Notes:**  
  
  
For the belief among the Rohirrim that Galadriel was a witch, see _The Two Towers_ Book III Chapter II, _The Riders of Rohan_.   
  
_The Sindarin Princes of the Silvan Elves,_ which appears as Appendix B to the _History of Galadriel and Celeborn_ in _Unfinished Tales_ , tells how Oropher and then Thranduil came to rule over Silvan Elves in the forests east of the Misty Mountains in the Second Age, and describes what Bilbo calls their "going native":   
  
"they were soon merged with the Silvan Elves... [they] had no desire to leave Middle-earth...They wished indeed to become Silvan folk and to return, as they said, to the simple life natural to the Elves before the invitation of the Valar had disturbed it."   
  
This rather implies that Silvan Elves feel no sea-longing, which contrasts with an earlier note to the _History of Galadriel and Celeborn_ which reports that "The Silvan Elves (it is remarked here) 'were never wholly free of an unquiet and a yearning for the Sea which at times drove some of them to wander from their homes'." - as so often happens in JRRT, we have variant readings, so I'm going with the one which best suits my purposes, namely that sea-longing is alien to Wood-elves and that those who consider themselves Wood-elves would feel in general no desire to take ship to the West.   
  
Bilbo's remark on the sea-longing of the Sindar, by contrast, is a paraphrase of a quotation from Appendix F to _LoTR_ , _The Languages and Peoples of the Third Age_ (end of the _Of the Elves_ section).  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Many Paths and Errands Meet

Slowly Rivendell's trees shed their leaves, and the days grew shorter and more chill. Rowanna spent long afternoons with Bilbo and Frodo, closeted in the library hearing stories of the Elder Days. Even walking in the woods above the House with the pair reciting Elvish lessons could be managed without over-stretching Hobbit legs, since she found that while trying to remember her Sindarin grammar her long strides shortened to an easy amble.  
  
As for Legolas, she began to suspect there was some truth to his jesting remarks about the Deep-elves and the Wood-elves, for he was not often seen in the Hall among Elrond's household. On the other hand, whereas most of the Elves seemed to treat Rivendell's many strange guests either with faint amusement or, at best, with a courteous detachment, she would often come across Legolas perched on a wall or a tree-root talking to one of the Hobbits; and once she glimpsed him leaning on a parapet overlooking the river, deep in conversation with the Steward's son. She had kept anxiously away from Boromir for some time after their uneasy first meeting; but whatever opinions - if any - he might have held about Rowanna's family and history, he had either decided not to make much of them, or had weightier concerns on his mind, and had exchanged passing greetings with her in passageway and hall civilly enough from time to time.  
  
There was always work in the stables, too; the short hours of daylight had to be fully used if all the horses were to get sufficient exercise at this time of year. To Rowanna's surprise, Legolas would often appear as she was leading beasts out and ask if he might ride with her; _I would have thought he'd prefer to be up in the trees,_ she mused, _but perhaps he misses Culagor_. She had to admit that, like so many of the Elves, he could be in such total accord with any mount as to make even the Rohirrim envious; he rode without tack, murmuring no more than the occasional word to make his wishes known. _Had you ever asked me back in the Mark_ , she sometimes reflected, _I would have said I had seen the greatest horsemanship Middle-earth had to offer; yet Brethil and the horse-masters here accomplish in a day what might take us weeks, for they truly_ speak _to the beasts as even we cannot..._  
  
Trying not to dwell on the long leagues which lay between her and the horses she had left behind on the plains of the Riddermark, or the months before she could return to them, Rowanna found herself turning more and more often to a question which was puzzling her. _The Hobbits, Glóin and Gimli, Boromir... what are they all waiting for?_ Oh, Rivendell was without doubt a pleasant enough place to sit out the winter - though in truth there had been time enough after the Council, for any fitter to ride than she, to depart east or south before the snows came down; most of the Dwarves had set off on their long line of ponies back towards the Lonely Mountain weeks ago, leaving only their chief spokesman and his son behind. There had been time to send out the various scouting parties, too. _And scouting for what?_ she would wonder as she paced through the House on dank afternoons too dark to ride, or as her brush rasped rhythmically over Caradhras' gleaming red flanks.  
  
She was piecing together fragments, slowly, catching snippets of conversations she was not meant to hear or was not thought to understand, matching them with sights and memories. The urgent demands for horses and gear for parties of scouts had suddenly been made after the great Council; _something happened there, some decision, to send them all out. Elladan and Elrohir, too: "Elladan and I are off into the Wilds again tonight...we go secretly and watchfully, and therefore we go afoot."_ And there had been the great commotion about the coming of the Hobbits - rescued by Glorfindel and Aragorn from some terrible peril at the Ford of the Bruinen, on the same day that from the forested slopes she had heard that unearthly screech and the great thundering rumble of the river; rescued after the fair-haired stranger had brought a message about _nazgûl_ that had sent the Elf-lords racing out of the valley, and chilled Bilbo's blood.  
  
 _This all has something to do with Bilbo's ring_ , she insisted to herself as she helped sweep out the stable-yard. _What was it Glóin was saying to Bilbo before I barged in on them that morning? Something about Sauron wanting a Ring? And sending it to the Fire?_ Always, in the end, the mystery seemed to come back to Rings: and to that verse on Bilbo's parchment which seemed burned into her memory, and which beat steadily in the back of her mind whenever she turned the problem over. _One Ring to bring them all, One Ring to find them..._  
  
Oddly enough, it was the Hobbit Peregrin who solved the greater part of the puzzle for her. He had joined Bilbo and Frodo for part of their walk with Rowanna in the woods above the House one afternoon, and as the two older Hobbits lagged behind discussing an Elven verse which Rowanna did not know and Pippin took no interest in, their conversation turned instead to the Shire and its customs at the turning of the year.  
  
"We shan't be back in time for Yuleday, I don't suppose," Pippin sighed. "Though perhaps for Lithe, that's our Midyear, if Frodo doesn't dawdle on the way to Mordor with the Ri - I mean, with you-know-what..."  
  
Rowanna missed her footing and staggered. Fortunately, Pippin did not connect her stumble with his remark, and was too busy trying to help her regain her balance to notice her face. Only when they were strolling steadily again did she ask, as lightly as she could,  
  
"Who else is going with Frodo, do you know?"  
  
"Oh, well, Sam, of course," Pippin answered cheerily, "you wouldn't catch Sam letting Frodo go anywhere without him these days. And Gandalf says he might go with them. Merry and I want to go too, but I don't know if they will let us. Elrond says there must be a Company to guide and protect Frodo, so they'll probably want to send Elven warriors or something." He sighed, momentarily downcast. "I don't suppose Merry and I would be much good as warriors; I've got a sword - well, it's a dagger, really, from the Barrow-downs - but I don't know how to fight. Do you?  
  
"I am no warrior either, Pippin!" Rowanna smiled despite herself. "I cannot use sword or bow; I'm quite a good shot with a sling and a pile of pebbles, though, for those are worthy weapons out on the plains if you are trying to drive a wolf away from new foals, as I've often had to do. You have to be an excellent shot to truly injure the wolf, but you can plague him enough to make him feel your herds are not worth the trouble..."  
  
"You should learn to shoot," a voice came suddenly from above them. Rowanna rolled her eyes as, a moment later, a now-familiar green and brown form dropped from the canopy and Legolas grinned at the startled Hobbit. "Not a war-bow but a short hunting bow - that is the weapon for a rider!"   
  
"That's a good idea!" Pippin put in excitedly. "Legolas could teach you - he can shoot, I've seen him -"  
  
"Legolas was jesting, Pippin," Rowanna laughed. "The wolves are not yet grown so bold in the Riddermark that I need arrows to be rid of them!"  
  
"Oh well," Pippin shrugged off the idea, " - what was that, Frodo?" as the two older Hobbits came up behind them, "I don't mind - do you want to go up to the Falls?"  
  
"It was no jest," Legolas said quietly as the Halflings deliberated. "The darkness rises around us as it has not done this Age, and we know not what lands Mordor may not menace before all is done."  
  
 _In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie._ A name of uneasy murmuring; the threat from the East, which in recent years none in Rohan had ever quite banished from mind. And a Halfling was to march into it bearing Bilbo's Ring? It was madness, Rowanna thought. Surely, Pippin had misunderstood, and yet... A Company was to be formed, guides and guards. And Boromir, Legolas, Gimli and Glóin, were all lingering in Rivendell into the winter, as though awaiting a call. She said no more; but she did not forget Legolas' words, and she resolved to speak with one of Elrond's bowmasters before the winter was out.  
  
***  
  
One after another, the little groups of Elven scouts sent out after the Council began to reappear, dropping back into the valley in the early dawn or the twilight. The foot-scouts would slip through unheralded, weary as Rowanna had never seen Elves, wringing out sodden cloaks at the great doors and depositing packs with sighs of relief; and then, always, were ushered by Erestor upstairs at once to Master Elrond's chambers to make their report. Rowanna began to learn when a mounted group was coming down the vale, as her charges in the stable would sniff the air and nicker joyfully. One grey dawn the talk among the stable-hands was all of word from the border-guards that a party from the East had been sighted; the Mirkwood scouts were returning. Rowanna finished her share of strawing down and feeding as quickly as she decently could, and set out into the forest.  
  
She knew she did not exactly need to look for him; if she took one of her habitual paths into the trees, and called to him once or twice, he would appear soon enough. Even if he could not possibly have been in earshot, he always seemed to know before long when she or Merry or Pippin were looking for him. Sure enough, as she rounded a great boulder which lay across the path, he emerged as though from the very bark of a great oak ahead.  
  
"A good morning to you, Legolas. Although how any morning can be good in this endless dreary drizzle is beyond me."  
  
"Nor will it change today, I think," he sniffed the air thoughtfully, "no sunshine for your ride this afternoon, I fear. How can I serve you, Rowanna?"  
  
"I was looking for you - but then you knew that, did you not?" He raised an eyebrow at her with a grin, and she went on, "I wanted to tell you - the news all over the stables this morning is that the border-sentries sighted the scouts from the East at dawn. They will be down at the House before noon."  
  
He nodded, the smile vanishing. "I know. I heard it from the trees as the sun was coming up. But my thanks, nonetheless; it was a kindly thought. Elrond's people will know how to find me if they need..."   
  
_He is far away again,_ Rowanna realised, watching Legolas' gaze slide away towards the tracery of bare branches against sky. "There will be messages from your father, surely? To Master Elrond, of course, but to you, also - "  
  
He did not look at her as he answered. "Father never dreamed I would still be here at the year's turning; I sent what account of myself I could with Taurlaegel, but there was much I could not say. All ways from Imladris may now be watched by servants of the Shadow, and any messenger might have fallen prey to them."  
  
Rowanna gasped, and Legolas' attention came around to her at once. "What is it, lady?"  
  
"I - no, I am foolish, it is nothing. I was thinking of Béodred - the companion who brought me here along with Dirgon - he rode south weeks ago with a party bound for the Golden Wood, and then he was to ride on to the Mark to bear news of me. But that was before the leaf-fall, and we heard that he had made it as far as Lórien - he will have reached Edoras, surely?"  
  
"I never yet saw Lothlórien," Legolas admitted, sounding a little rueful, "and I know little of the lands beyond it; but I would say that any of your folk must be doughty enough to reach home through any perils Rohan may now have to offer!" Seeing her relieved smile, he put on a sudden expression of mock alarm. "Besides, do you not face a danger still more pressing, _mellonen_? Are you not about to miss breakfast? I would not have such a fate befall you on my account!"  
  
"Come then," Rowanna laughed, "walk with me." They fell into step back down through the trees.  
  
"Have your kin no news of your healing, then, until this Béodred of yours bears your tidings home?" Legolas enquired as they went.   
  
"He is not _my_ Béodred," Rowanna said firmly, "even if he might wish to be! And it is to my mother, alone, that he was to bear news. My father died when I was just a child, in service to Éomund, the Chief Marshal of the Mark."  
  
"I am sorry," Legolas said softly. "It is an ill fate for any child, mortal or Elf, to be left fatherless."  
  
"I barely remember him," Rowanna admitted. "He was tall and black-haired and had a laugh like a great bear; I recall him picking me up and swinging me over his head till I squealed. Mother says he put me on a pony when I could barely walk - she was convinced I would break my neck, but I loved it!" She said nothing for a moment, letting her boots scuff through the dead leaves as they walked.  
  
"As to your question.. no, Mother has had no news of me since Béodred and Dirgon set out bearing me from Edoras, months ago; and I had been out of my senses then for some time. She must have wondered if she would ever see me hale again."  
  
"You have never told me what it was ailed you," Legolas observed, turning a curious gaze on her. "But - forgive me," he added as Rowanna looked away biting her lip, "I tread on ground that is yours alone..."  
  
"No, it isn't that - " she shook her head. "It is long since I spoke of it at all - none among Master Elrond's folk have ever asked me; they recoil almost, I think, from any talk of sickness or injury." _And recoil from me too_ , she thought with a momentary flash of bitterness, remembering the distaste on the face of the Elf who had opened a door for her on her first foray down the hallways of Rivendell, _as though I embodied all that they preferred not to think of - one of the Sickly Ones indeed! No wonder some of them prefer to look straight through me or to talk over me as though I were not there. And apart from the stable-hands, who have grown used to me, those who_ do _notice me are as over-kindly as if I were a poorly child!_  
  
Legolas nodded slowly. "It is half an Age since many of the people of Imladris faced injury, or pain, or death," he said softly; his voice cracked just a little, and Rowanna was suddenly reminded of something Bilbo had said of the Elves of Mirkwood. _"It's no Last Homely House, Thranduil's realm, let me tell you; plagued by giant bats, and spiders the size of ponies, and orcs in the North off the slopes of the Grey Mountains, and the Necromancer with his black arts down in the south casting his shadow ever closer to the Elves' borders. Not surprising they are a wary folk, when all's said and done."_ She took a deep breath.  
  
"It - it was an accident, not sickness. With a horse running wild on the borders of the Eastfold, so Béodred said..."  
  
"Said?" Legolas frowned. "You do not know?"  
  
"I - do not remember." Rowanna stood still; without warning she found herself trembling, blood rushing to her face and her eyes filling with unexpected tears. "I _cannot_ remember, Legolas! Do not ask me, please -"  
  
"It matters not," he broke in gently. "I did not mean to grieve you - speak of it no more..."  
  
They resumed their descent in silence for a while. Suddenly Legolas stopped with a cry of delight and pointed: "There! I have been seeking him for days - I was sure the _brethilgaer_ must still grow somewhere in Imladris!"  
  
She followed his gaze, but saw only a line of beeches whose almost-leafless branches stood lonely against the sky. "The - what?" But he had already leapt forward down the slope to snatch up a handful of leaves from the forest floor; he turned, smiling, holding them out for her inspection. Where all the trees around had shed golden or rust-coloured leaves, these glowed a glorious shade of burnished, coppery red.  
  
"I know not what he is called in the Common Speech, but I wanted to find one to show you - for surely this is your tree!" His grin was triumphant.  
  
" _My_ tree? Why on earth?.. And why do I have a tree?"  
  
"Oh, _mellonen_ , we have each our own tree!" he insisted. "And this is yours - if you ever see one in summer, look at his leaves alongside a lock of your hair, and you will see why; for then they are a shade almost black, but the sunlight shines red through them. If you ever find one in your homeland, you will know; there is your dwelling-place, and there your heart will find rest."  
  
"I shall not forget." Rowanna smiled despite herself; _my own tree, indeed. Do Wood-elves ever think about anything else?_ "I never saw such a one in the Riddermark, though," she warned him. "In truth," - she cast him a sideways glance - "there are great swathes of the Mark where no trees stand at all!" She could not repress a chuckle as his eyebrows shot up.

"None at all?" he demanded, in tones of mock outrage. "Did you not call your land fair?"

"Oh, but it is!" Even in jest, Rowanna found herself leaping to the Riddermark's defence. "You should see the grasslands in the spring; league upon league of endless green rolling clear to the horizon, rippling in great waves under the wind, and the herds galloping across it till the ground thunders. The scent of it - I cannot tell you how new grass smells with the dew of morning on it! And the flowers - heartsease and buttercups that carpet the land in violet and gold as far as you can see..." She broke off; for the familiar surge of homesickness was swelling in her chest till her breath came out in one great sob. "Oh! Legolas, truly, it _is_ a fair land! And - and soon spring will come, and I shall not be there..." She found she had tears in her eyes, and scrubbed angrily at them. When her blurred sight cleared, she found the Elf looking at her curiously.

"I had not known that a Mortal could care so deeply for the green of the earth," he said softly, "when it is not grown or tilled, but wild as the free wind. But, _mellonen_ , this is only one spring, after all - "

"Well enough, for an immortal Elf," Rowanna snapped back, still feeling sorely her long absence from her home. "We mere mortals have not the luxury of knowing we will see the seasons turn for another Age! Besides," - her tone softened as she saw him wince - "I will miss _this_ spring, Legolas, and it will never be quite the same as any other, and it will never come again."

He nodded, slowly. "My people have many _yeni_ to learn how great is our love for Arda, and so we think we care for her more than can any of the Aftercomers. But might a love that knows it must be brief be no less, and yet so much more urgent?.." He smiled suddenly, holding out one of the _brethilgaer_ 's copper-red leaves. "Take it, Rowanna, a token. That we may both see many more springs yet in Middle-earth."   
  
***  
  
"I understand, sir," Erestor held his hands out in conciliation, "but Master Elrond's orders are clear; he can take counsel with none other, excepting Mithrandir, until he has seen all the scouts as they come in. And since the last few parties, praise the Powers, are now returning, I do not think he will be able to speak with you tonight. I would not have you waste your time in waiting upon him, my lord."  
  
Suppressing his irritation at the profusion of titles Erestor seemed determined to scatter about him, Legolas sighed. "I thank you for your trouble once again, Erestor - and good night to you," he added hastily as Elrond's steward prepared to embark on lengthy assurances of how little trouble it was. He was turning on his heel when a drawling voice hailed him from the direction of the stairs.  
  
"Legolas!"   
  
A dark head appeared in the doorway, and a moment later Elrohir had offered him a swift clasp of arms and flung himself down in an armchair, careless of the damp already transferring itself from his rain-soaked cloak to the chair's brocade, and the clods of mud which fell from his boots to the rug as he extended his long legs towards the fire. "Yes, Erestor, as you see, we are back; are we the last in? - no, no, don't _fuss_ , just call for plenty of wine, my friend, mulled if the kitchens have any, and three glasses; Elladan is hard upon my heels..." As the steward vanished to do his bidding, the Peredhel stretched luxuriously into the warmth and let out a deep sigh. "I had forgotten how it feels not to be chilled and damp and have melting snow trickling into my boots, I swear! Sit down, Elladan - " as his brother appeared, raindrops gleaming in his black locks, "- I've sent Erestor for wine to warm our frozen bones."  
  
"Good even to you, Legolas," murmured Elladan; unlike his twin, Legolas noticed with inward amusement, he seemed to have taken the time to wipe the worst of the mud from his boots before climbing the stairs.   
  
"And to you, my friends," he responded once he was able to get a word in. "I am glad to see you safe returned to your father's halls."  
  
"Why thank you, son of Thranduil." Elrohir arched an eyebrow. "Now I think of it, though, I am puzzled that you should be here to welcome us back - I thought Father was sending messengers out to Mirkwood as urgently as he sent south and west? Have you taken up permanent residence among us?"  
  
"I wait upon a decision of your father's, Elrohir," Legolas said simply. "I do not expect to have to trespass a great deal longer upon his hospitality."  
  
"Take no notice of my brother's mocking tongue," Elladan put in gently. "He never did know how to be gracious to guests. I trust the idle days of waiting have not weighed too heavily?"  
  
"There is always welcome in Imladris' woods," Legolas smiled. "Besides," his eyes suddenly sparkled, "there are strange sights abroad in your father's domain these days such as I never saw before! I have been learning much of the ways of Halflings, and they are a folk merry enough to cheer any downcast heart, for all their small size."  
  
"And how is my dear little horse-lady?" enquired Elrohir, leaning over to prod the fire into brighter life with the poker. "Still working away on her Grey grammar with old Bilbo? Oh, come, you must have seen her," as Legolas hesitated, "hair nearly as dark as Estel's, almost of a height with me, limps a little like an elderly Ranger who's taken one leg-wound too many. Stubborn as a stallion when you cross her..."  
  
"She does not limp now," Legolas said quietly. "Yes, I know her; we have ridden together - "  
  
"Just don't get into a race with her, is my advice!" Elrohir grinned. "I heard a few distinctly _colourful_ pieces of Rohirric once when she thought I was going to win. Makes you wonder about her misadventure, really - you'd have thought she could quell any cursed steed of Mordor with that glare of hers..."  
  
"That was no matter for jesting, brother, as Arwen and I well remember and you should too!" Elladan cut in quickly across Legolas' curious glance, silencing Elrohir with uncharacteristic sharpness. "Ah - Erestor, thank you, that is a glad sight!" as the steward reappeared accompanied by a serving-elf, whose silver tray bore three goblets and a steaming pitcher emitting a rich, spicy fragrance. "Will you take a glass with us, Legolas?"  
  
"Come, do," his brother urged, "in commiseration - for a quarry gone to ground, a captive lost?" It was Legolas' turn to shoot him a sharp look; Erestor, however, succeeded finally in capturing their attention.  
  
"Your pardon, Elrohir, Elladan; but Master Elrond will, I believe, be at leisure shortly and will call for you -" Indeed, the door to Elrond's inner chamber swung open and another weary, muddied Elf still in cloak and boots emerged, nodding to the twins and casting an envious glance towards the pitcher on the table as he made his exit.  
  
"I thank you my friends," Legolas' tone was mild, "but it seems your father requires your presence, and I'll not delay you." Only after Elrohir had extracted his long limbs from the chair and made for Elrond's chamber did he hold Elladan back for a moment. "Are you at leisure when Master Elrond has heard your report, Elladan? There is a matter on which I would speak more with you..."  
  
Elladan nodded slowly, as if not exactly surprised by the request. "Do you know the small parlour just off the south-east corner of the Hall of Fire, the one which looks out down the valley? Good. I will come there when Father is done with us; for I think you do not wish my brother to join us, and none should overhear us there." He turned on his heel and followed his twin.  
  
 _He has his father's far sight, that one_ , Legolas mused as he made his way slowly down the spiral staircase to the lower floors. _I think he knows what it is I would have him tell me!_ Unfortunately, however, yet again he had no answer to the one question he wished to ask Elrond. _"Will you send me with the Company?"_  
  
_Patience,_ he tried to insist to himself, _and all paths will be made clear in time_. But as he paced the halls of the House waiting for Elladan, feeling caged by the unaccustomed requirement to keep within doors, he could not keep his father's terse, cautious message, patiently recited by one of the scouts, from his mind:  
  
 _My dear Legolas,  
  
That you can say little of the matter which keeps you in Imladris, I well understand. I could find it in me to wish that I had not sent you thither; but I felt we owed it to Mithrandir, and I would not have it said that our House would shirk its obligations. Should it indeed be that Master Elrond sees fit to appoint you to the task to which you feel the Powers calling you, we can but hope and trust that you will be brought safe again to the Greenwood in time; since we can only guess at the quest to which you are summoned, and know not how long or how far it may bear you from your home and your kin.  
  
The blessing of our House upon you, my beloved son: Elbereth guide you, guard and protect you, to the end of the world. _  
  
***  
  
"...so there you have it, my friend." Elladan set his wineglass down and leaned back in his chair, fingertips steepled together. "Now you know as much as I of her injury, and her healing." The candles around them burned steadily in the quiet night of the Homely House.   
  
Legolas was curled in the window's deep embrasure, where starlight and tree-shadow danced in turn across his face; his eyes had not left Elladan while the Half-elven told his tale, but now he shifted so that his gaze for a long moment turned to the valley and the night.  
  
"If you would hear more," Elladan added softly, "speak with my sister; for the battle with the darkness in Rowanna's mind was Father's, but it was Arwen who waited and watched long with her, and knows her perhaps best. Though she might well refuse you, for Arwen will not break a confidence without great need as a rule."  
  
Legolas swung round at that to face Elrond's son directly. "Then why did you speak with me?"   
  
Elladan's smile was rueful as he accepted the challenge. "Perhaps I have done wrong; but it seemed to me that you mean the lady no ill will, and that more than idle curiosity drove you - unlike those of Father's folk who would rather gaze and murmur at the strangeness of the Sickly Ones, I fear, for all that Imladris has seen its fair share of mortal company down the Ages." His expression sharpened as a thought struck him. "Come to that, friend Greenleaf, why did you wish to know?"  
  
For a moment only silence answered him, and he thought he had caused offence; but the reply came, halting as Legolas thought it out. "I... thought I knew a good deal of the Afterborn, Elladan, before Father's charge brought me to Imladris with the leaf-fall; more at least than many of my folk. Now I speak daily with Men, Halflings - even Stunted Ones! - and I realise that I understand mortals not at all... Their thoughts and feelings are writ large in their faces for all to see, and yet I cannot read them." He reached across the window-alcove to pluck a candle from its sconce, and turned it around in his long fingers, so carefully that it never flickered, as though he sought the answer to his riddle at its glowing heart. "I might understand the lady Rowanna better, I thought, if I knew the misfortune that had brought her here."  
  
Elladan nodded slowly, and reached to take another draught of wine. "Did I guess rightly, that you did not wish to speak of this before my brother?"  
  
"I wanted rather to hear your account than Elrohir's," Legolas admitted. "He seemed disposed to jest about it, and I know it to be no laughing matter; for it distresses Rowanna greatly still - "  
  
"Is that so?" Elladan looked up sharply. "I wonder if Arwen and Father know it?"  
  
"I could not tell you. I broke open the wound unknowing, asking her how it befell, and she could not tell me, for she has no memory of it."  
  
"Whatever she knows of it, it is buried deep, and perhaps for good reason." Elladan grimaced. "How much do you know of the Dúnedain, Legolas?"  
  
Legolas frowned into the circle of gold which lit his face against the darkness. "Little enough; they are not often seen east of the Misty Mountains. But Elladan, you wool-gather - what has this to do with Rowanna of Rohan?"  
  
"More than you know." Elladan shifted forward in his chair, elbows upon his knees, his wineglass forgotten. "Rowanna was born and raised in the Riddermark, yes, but her parents had come there from Gondor, and the blood of the Northern as well as the Southern Dúnedain runs in her veins; the blood, distantly, of Aragorn's kin as well as mine. The Men of the West have battled the Shadow all this Age, no less valiantly for being a scattered and wandering people; and I need not tell you of all people, son of Thranduil, that sometimes the weight of the darkness is hard to bear. There are those of Rowanna's people who feel it more sorely than most, and who sink beneath it at last." He bit his lip, gazing into the hidden corners of the room, and a long moment passed before he met Legolas' troubled eyes again. "I am certain, though he will never speak of it, that that was the fate of Estel's mother, Gilraen."  
  
"Estel?.. _Aragorn's_ mother?"  
  
Elladan sighed. "Not a dozen sun-rounds have passed since she gave up her ghost, without any injury or mortal sickness that even Father could find; she simply - wearied, and wasted away before our eyes, as though she had seen her fate and could no longer choose any other path. Without hope it is hard for mortals to find the strength to shape their lives; and she had no hope left, she said, and could no longer face the growing darkness..."  
  
Legolas' candle-flame flickered violently, sending shadows flying around the parlour's walls. "The darkness. Rowanna was barely touched by the black steed that felled her, you tell me, and yet she felt Mordor's taint keenly enough that it cast her into shadow for many weeks. This is why your father's battle to draw her back to the light was so fierce fought?" He ended on a hoarse whisper, staring at Elladan, who nodded.  
  
"And why it troubled Father, and Arwen, that she never remembered it; for to build such a wall against her own memories, Father said, they must have been black indeed."  
  
There was a sudden flare from a wall-sconce as a wick collapsed into its own pool of melted wax, its light dying, and Elladan shook himself and got to his feet. "We wear the night away, and I have not yet delivered the message I was charged to give you! I ask your pardon..."  
  
"Message?" Legolas set his own candle carefully back in its bracket and rose in his turn. "From whom?"  
  
"From Father." He smiled at the intake of breath which met his words. " I told him as I left him that we were to meet, and he asked that when we were done - late though it might be - you go up to his chamber, for he would keep you waiting no longer. He has a decision for you, my friend."   
  
*******  
  
 **Author's Notes:**  
  
 _brethilgaer_ is my attempt at translating "copper beech" ( _brethil_ = beech; _gaer_ = copper-coloured. I can't find any attested translation of JRRT's; nor can I find any specific mention of the copper beech in Middle-earth, but since beeches are plentiful in northern M-e I don't see why copper beeches shouldn't be found there.   
  
Stunted Ones: literal translation of _Naugrim_.   
  
For notes on Gilraen's fading and death, see notes to Chapter 6.


	13. The Horse and the Rider

"And a good day to you also, Master Gimli." Returning the Dwarf's careful bow with a rather sketchy bob of her own as she remembered at the last moment that she was wearing skirts, Rowanna smiled her thanks to Bilbo and set off for her own room to change, humming with pleasure at a morning passed unexpectedly well.

She had spent most of the previous long, dark winter afternoon helping the Hobbit in the library, clambering up and down ladders for the volumes he wanted, and her exertions had left her a little stiff - _climbing ladders must use the legs quite differently from riding!_ she thought wryly - and slightly weary, but there was no trace of the dragging limp which had marred her first attempts to walk the corridors of Rivendell. __

_I should have known Bilbo was up to something,_ she reflected with a grin, _for why else would he be sending written invitations to coffee?_ When the slip of beautifully-embossed, heavy paper had been delivered by a gravely bowing Elf before breakfast that morning, she had merely assumed that Bilbo wanted to convey his thanks with coffee and cakes, as well as to test her on their latest lessons; for the short note in his spidery hand was penned in the Grey tongue, and she had twisted her quill backwards and forwards in her fingers while she laboriously composed an appropriate reply. _But he got what he wanted, the wily old thing,_ she admitted. _I took the spirit of his note and turned up washed and brushed, in long skirts with my hair up - and thereby presented Master Gimli with as ladylike a coffee-companion as he could have wished!_

Perhaps the cunning Hobbit had been working his host's wiles on the Dwarf too, she mused; for Gimli's initially painful efforts to unbend a little had gradually become less strained. By the time the coffee-pot was emptied and the cake reduced to a litter of crumbs on plates, he had been quite cheerfully telling a tale of the Dwarves' difficulties with the Beornings over the High Pass on the journey to Rivendell.

"They are stout fellows enough, I grant, for if they were not they would be hard put to it in these times to keep the Pass open. But hammer and tongs! I shall need to strike a rich vein of mithril in some distant mine before I go that way again, if their tolls keep rising as steeply as the very cliffs around them! Ah well," he drained his coffee-cup, "there may be no need to lose sleep over it; for who knows when or by what road any of us may go home?"

All in all, by the time Rowanna took her leave to go and change back out of her gown - for she intended to ride after lunch - she felt hopeful that Gimli had altered his views of women who wandered abroad in breeches at least as far as she had her opinions of the surliness of Dwarves, and was quite looking forward to another opportunity to talk to him.

She was not halfway down the hallway which ran the length of the House, still humming a walking-song which Frodo had been singing the previous day, when a little group of Elves emerged from a chamber some distance in front of her, one carrying a black-and-white chequered board and another a large carved box, and made for the doorway at the bend in the hall. Rowanna paid little attention to them until one of the group, who had been lingering by the heavy oak door while his laden companions passed through, looked back down the passageway towards her and held the door wide open. Rowanna shook her head and signalled to him to go on, for she was still too far away down the passage for his gesture to be practical - or even particularly courteous, she thought, since if anything having the door thus held for her made her feel pressed to hurry. _Though that is a very Mortal thought_ , she realised; _he would probably stand all afternoon if the fancy took him and think nothing of it_.

The Elf, however, merely gave one of those rather distant Elven smiles which always made Rowanna feel like a small and grubby child, and continued to hold the door. Rowanna frowned. " _Avo dhortho,_ " she called, but either she was not understood or he ignored her. It was ridiculous to allow a mere gesture to chafe her so; yet the little knot of Elves around the doorway was now inspecting her with open curiosity, making the blood rise in Rowanna's face. _Did no-one ever tell you it is rude to stare?_

There were no other passages here into which she could turn aside, no haven such as the library into which she could turn as though making for it all along, and pride would not allow her simply to turn and flee; along that seemingly endless hallway she must trudge as fast as her skirts and her stiffened legs would allow, silently cursing the arrogance of _stupid_ Elves who seemed to think that just because she was a Mortal who had been ailing for a time she was condemned to be a feeble invalid for ever... She reached the doorway, forced her flaming face into some semblance of a polite smile of thanks - _for what good would it do to rail at him, but to convince him that Mortals are not only feeble but ignorant and uncouth too?..._ and with a gulp of relief made her escape to her room with much slamming of intervening doors, feeling doubly bitter at the sudden spoiling of a morning which had seemed to be going so well.

By the time she had changed back into breeches and boots, and stopped off to beg some bread and cheese from the kitchen to avoid having to sit down and subdue her fury to polite conversation over lunch, Rowanna found herself beginning to calm down. The prospect of escaping from the House and into the valley on horseback for the afternoon filled her with relief; though she discovered, when she reached the stable-yard, that Brethil would have been yet more relieved to see her a couple of hours earlier.

"I was in sore need of someone to take the Redhorn out; Gilas rode him, in the end, but he might have borne you with better grace, the fancy he seems to have for you..."

"You mean, you thought I could be flattered into being honoured to be lumbered with him for the morning?" Rowanna retorted. "What ails his temper today more than usual?" Brethil waved an elegant hand towards the far end of the yard, and she winced in understanding. "Edlothia?"Caradhras was too well-schooled, like all the Elves' stallions she had yet encountered, to try to mount a mare in heat uninvited; but she could imagine that restraining himself from kicking down his stall-door to reach Edlothia must have been making the great horse somewhat tetchy. The horsemaster nodded.

"It was a needful kindness to take the poor beast away from temptation, when he was finding it so hard to comport himself as befitted Master Elrond's own mount - "

As if his ears burned with so much discussion of his habits, at that moment the red stallion reappeared in the yard, still prancing and head-tossing. His rider, who had clearly had a somewhat trying morning of it, dismounted with hasty grace muttering something towards Brethil, the full import of whicn Rowanna did not catch but which clearly implied that if Brethil was so inclined to be patient towards the Redhorn, then he could do it directly and not by proxy. The head groom sighed resignedly and took over Caradhras' headstall. "And there was I thinking I might finally have time to talk to Galathil about the shoeing..."

"Let me take him," Rowanna offered. "I'll rub him down for you and he can tell me all his troubles, can't you Caradhras, _mín freónd?_ " She chirruped encouragingly at the stallion, who snorted and butted her gently with his great head. Brethil grinned, gratefully released the Redhorn and disappeared in the direction of the smithy, crossing paths with Legolas, who stopped for a brief word before continuing to Rowanna's side.

"Do you ride this afternoon, _mellonen_? Brethil suggests I might take Thalatâl out, if you wish for company?"

"Yes, of course, if you can wait while I -" Rowanna began.

Just then, as one of the stable-lads put it later while trying to explain all to Brethil, "suddenly there seemed to be Mortals everywhere underfoot..." With a slapping of bare feet a small flash of colour and curly hair streaked into the yard, pursued by another yelling indignantly: "You pilfering good for-nothing Took, that's _my_ pipeweed..."

The fleeing Pippin missed his footing, tripped on the cobbles and rolled straight under the forefeet of Caradhras. Elrond's stallion might come from an unbroken line of great warhorses, but his self-control was already a little strained that day, and he had never encountered a Halfling before. He put his ears back and snorted in alarm at this small hairy creature which was scrabbling at his feet, then screamed indignantly and reared.

"The horse-lady stepped in at his shoulder," the stable-lad recounted as Brethil nodded, "clear of his hooves, to give him rein, and then - she turned all white as the snow on the mountains, and just seemed to freeze where she stood, like a troll caught by sunrise. For an instant I thought she would fall - and then Thranduil's son, who stood nearest, pulled her clear, and caught Caradhras and said enough to him to calm him. The Halfling got up and dusted himself off, and all seemed done and no harm."

The stable-lad had turned back to his own business then, happy enough that all was well, and paid no more attention. He had not heard, as Merry and Pippin had, the stone-cold tones in which Rowanna said,

"I will thank you for Caradhras now, Legolas; he is in my charge," before taking the Redhorn from the startled Elf without further word and leading him away, murmuring to him all the while in her own tongue.

***

Legolas gazed after her for a moment, then shook himself and turned his attention to the abashed Pippin; only once satisfied that the Hobbit was unhurt did he look again for Rowanna. She had been rubbing the Redhorn down in his own stall well away from the mares, and as Legolas approached she was turning towards the tackroom, laden with Caradhras' saddle and gear.

"Let me," he offered, arms outstretched for her burden, but Rowanna ignored him and stalked off into the tackroom. Following, Legolas saw the heavy saddle slip as she reached to lift it to its rack, and was swiftly at her side. "Sit, let me - you look weary - " She banged the saddle into its place and turned to face him with eyes blazing.

"Will you _let me be_?..."

He blinked. " _Mellonen_ , I..."

"Do not call me _friend_!" Too late he realised that he had overstepped some mark, though what it was baffled him.

"I am sick of it! Must I be treated for evermore as though I am feeble and can make no shift for myself? Béodred was bad enough; he at least was only young and lovesick and might have learnt better in the end. Elrond's folk treat me as though I will never be more than the weak half-crippled thing they saw when first I was brought to Rivendell; but I... I thought _you_ were different... Elves! You are all the same!"

She was trembling, her face a white mask in which two angry spots of colour burned high on her cheeks; Legolas struggled for words, found he knew not where to begin, and before he could speak Rowanna had spun round and stormed out into the yard and away. He was standing stunned, when a creaking of leather drew his attention, and he realised that Rowanna's fellow-mortal, the elderly one called Dirgon, had been seated quietly at the far end of the room the whole time polishing a bridle.

"She may be a mere Mortal and a woman at that, Master Elf, but she's as stubborn and as proud as the Redhorn himself, and she's no man's fool." With this uncharacteristically long speech Dirgon had levered himself to his feet, and he now hobbled to the door and disappeared, leaving Legolas frowning into the shadows.

******* __

_Avo dhortho_ \- don't wait [lit. do not stay].

I am particularly indebted to Sulriel for her expert advice on the behaviour of stallions for this chapter.


	14. From the Grey Twilight

Legolas moved silently away from the stables and into the quiet of the valley, unconsciously noting every stirring branch and movement of cloud. _Where would she go? She is angry, wounded, afraid..._ Close to the stableyard, the earth was churned up with too many passages of Elves and beasts to begin to track; he must needs choose a starting point further out. _If I were in such a mood, I would be up the tallest tree I could find._

___But she is no Wood-elf,_ he argued with himself. _When the Song's harmonies seem to falter around you and the world feels fractured, you seek the trees, to breathe as they breathe, to return to that which you hold most dear. What would she do?_

Into his mind came Rowanna's passionate account of her homeland: _league upon league of endless green rolling clear to the horizon, rippling in great waves under the wind..._ He stopped a moment, breathing deeply, stilling his mind and letting it reach out into the chill winter afternoon. Then he turned and headed for the Bruinen's narrow bridge, across to the valley's southern side.

He knew he had angered her, although he was only dimly beginning to understand why, and that he might well be the last person in the world she would want to see. But he could not rest. He had seen her face in the instant when she froze before Caradhras' flying hooves, and in the tackroom afterwards; and at the back of her huge dark eyes had lurked a shadow which Legolas had seen many times before. He had seen it in the eyes of comrades who had survived their first skirmishes with orc-bands and sat exhausted with their blades dripping with black blood; he had felt it in his own dreams and in the depths of his being after sorties into the southern fastnesses of Mirkwood when they had ventured as far towards Dol Guldur as they dared, and further than was wise. __

_But why would Rowanna.. how..._ Then understanding broke in upon him in an icy wave, and he stopped dead as he recalled Elladan's account. _Her injury; the black steed that reared, and felled her, and sent her into the darkness so far for so long that it took all of Master Elrond's healing skills to draw her back to the light._

He saw her again in the yard, freezing as the hooves flailed around her. _She remembered. She has remembered her fall, and when her anger cools she may recall all that came after - and then..._ He broke into a run through the damp grass of the river-meadow. _I have to find her._

*** __

_She leaves a trail a Dwarf could follow in the dark,_ he observed wryly, as soon as he came across her track. Clearly she had made no attempt to slip away; rather she had stormed up the slope at a punishing pace, boots churning up the mud, with no pause to rest. Here she had come upon a thicket of brambles; and rather than turn the few yards aside to go around them, she had pushed herself straight through them, leaving strands of hair here and there. Legolas winced. _She was so angry. Yet better that than what her anger holds at bay!_

Finally, he reached the crest of the rise, emerging above the line of slowly thinning pine-trees, and glanced swiftly about. There - yes, it was as he remembered, a great outcrop of bare rock which jutted out from the hillside. He had been struck by it as he and Taurlaegel drew towards the valley on their arrival; it dominated the eastern approaches to Imladris, a stone sentinel. As he had thought, from that vantage the pine-forests of the further slopes showed as one endless, unbroken sea of dark green, until the mountains rose to bar the way to the South. Gazing that way from the very tip of the rock sat a miserably huddled figure. Taking a deep breath, deliberately scuffing up needles and treading heavily on a few twigs, Legolas stepped forward.

She must have heard the movement behind her, but did not turn. He could only guess how long she had sat hunched into a ball on the freezing stone, arms wrapped tightly about her knees as though to take up as little space as she could. Hesitantly, he spoke her name. At first there was no response; then she half-turned, slowly, and encouraged by this he went cautiously to join her, curling himself down cross-legged on the rock - not too near, giving her the choice to draw closer or not, as he might have approached a fearful deer or a wary bird. Even in profile, he saw her face was very pale, and marked with dried streaks of tears and dirt; marred, too, with smears of blood from long, reddened bramble-scratches, already swelling angrily.

"Rowanna, I am sorry." Another long pause; then she turned fully to face him, a stiff tired movement, and in her face he saw all that he had feared. Listlessly she said,

"What for?..."

"For angering you, to begin with. And if I understand aright - for acting as though I deemed you a child, or a weakling, or a fool, when I know you to be none of those."

"Do you?" A weary, half-disbelieving challenge. He held her gaze and said simply,

"I do."

She shrugged, looking away towards the great sweep of pines and the distant mountains. "It does not matter." Her voice was flat and dull in his ears, with none of its usual rich music.

"It does, I think. Rowanna, there in the stableyard, when Caradhras reared - what did you see?"

"I.." She choked into silence, and he reached out a cautious hand and gently turned her back towards him. "Legolas, I _can't_ , I.." Her voice rose sharply into panic.

"You can; you must." _How can I make it safe to speak of it?_ He was silent for a long moment, and then said slowly: "Do you remember what they call my homeland, Rowanna?" Seeming puzzled by the apparent change of subject, she said slowly,

"Mirkwood! But..."

"Mirkwood, _Taur-nu-fuin_ ; or no better, _Taur e-Ndaedelos_ , the Forest of Great Fear." He felt himself grimace as he spoke the hated names. "And you know why it is so called?"

"Not - not wholly. Bilbo spoke of it - of giant spiders, and of darkness under its boughs - "

"Darkness indeed." He held her gaze as he went on. "A shadow that lurks deep in our southern fastness, a shadow sprung from Evil itself; taken root in the fortress of Dol Guldur." She might never have heard the name before, but he saw her shiver at the way he spat it out. "More than half my lifetime ago that shade first appeared in our land - Greenwood the Great, Men called the forest then! - and ever since, I have fought with my people to drive it back from our borders. Often we have had small successes, brief respites; and yet always the shadow waxes again. I have seen its heavy hand in my comrades, in my friends, felt its dead weight even over my own heart. I know what it can do, Rowanna, how dark it is, and how it saps all hope..."

Her shoulders heaved in a sudden, pent-up sob, and he knew he had been right. When Caradhras reared, she had seen it all again, just as Elladan had described it to him; the black steed screaming and striking, the fallen man dead on the ground at her feet, and the darkness descending. But the story was not his... "Tell me. You can, I promise you."

Slowly, in shuddering fits and starts, she did so. A sudden flood of memory, released as the dam deep in her mind cracked and burst. At last, bleakly, she finished:

"It - it _was_ dark, dark, and so cold. But worse than all, the great weight of shadow; pressing down as though my body was full of lead... there seems no point to anything; why try, since all my toil will come to nothing in the end and the darkness cover all?"

Her eyes had slipped from him again, staring blindly out over the valley; but he knew she saw neither forest nor sky, he heard her voice trailing off into hopelessness, and a chill ran through him. Cautious no longer, he grabbed her bodily by the shoulders and swung her round to face him.

"Rowanna, look at me. _Look at me!_ " He had shocked her into complying, and he would not let her drop her gaze, holding her until he saw a tiny spark of recognition, of herself, kindling in the darkness that filled her eyes. "Do you hear me? That's good, stay with me now. Listen..." _Elbereth, aid me! I may have but one chance at this!_ "Do you remember how you came back from the darkness, before?"

She frowned. "Master Elrond brought me - "

" _No_. Elladan told me: Elrond called to you, yes, but _you came_. For Dirgon's and Béodred's and above all your mother's sake, you found the strength to come back. Loyalty, and friendship, and love can be stronger even than the Shadow, if only we do not lose hope..." _So let us hope our Hope proves true!_ came the wry unbidden thought, as he waited on tenterhooks for her response.

For a moment he heard only the wind whipping through the tops of the pines, but the light lingered in her dark eyes, and he held to it fiercely. At last she asked hesitantly:

"How then do you keep hope, Legolas? When you have fought back the darkness for so long and always it has returned?" This he could answer without puzzling, so long had he known it in his very bones.

"I think of how dearly I love Arda; the green earth, the trees, all that lives and would be free from trouble and pain were there no Shadow in the world..." Now he twisted around in his turn; looking not south but into the west, where the mountains glowed deep rose and gold with the last traces of the sunset. "And I trust that the Powers know how the Song will end at last, whatever the part I play in making it so; even if sometimes I seem so ill-fitted to my part that I wonder if I can ever fill it." _Or whether it is the part I would choose!_ he admitted to himself alone.

For a long moment they sat silent, and he heard her breathing slow and deepen and saw her hunched shoulders drop. Somewhere below in the valley he heard the chatter of roosting birds. Eventually, very quietly, she said: "I.. am glad you came to find me. Thank you." And then: "Legolas?"

"What is it?"

"If you thought me neither child, nor weakling, nor fool... why the haste to snatch Caradhras from me? Why did you not let be?..."

The question caught him off guard: he had given it no thought, and when it came his reply was halting.

"I.. I have seen Mortals in peril, even seen them die, before now, Rowanna: I fought alongside Men at the Battle of Five Armies, I have seen Men who live in the Greenwood's marches fall to orc or poison. Yet in that moment in the stableyard, I thought I saw how fragile and how precious is a Mortal life; a piece of gossamer, one moment sparkling in the dawn and the next - swept away to nothing..."

She turned to look him fully in the face, and he thought her great dark eyes posed a challenge; but he could not read, much less answer it. "Gossamer, are we? Well, the spider's web may vanish, but do not underestimate its strength while it lasts!"

Suddenly she shivered. Looking at her, he noticed that fine golden hairs stood up on the skin of her arms - _I never saw before that even the women of Mortal folk had downy skin_ , he thought - and he frowned, realising that she must be cold. "We should go down; darkness will soon fall, and Pippin will be worrying for you, and all eaten up with guilt at his foolishness!"

Rowanna actually laughed, though a little shakily. "Then we should not keep him waiting! In truth I have no great desire to be out on this cliff all night - it looks set to be cold!" She shifted in her place and grimaced. "Though the Hobbits will think I have been rolling in mud..." She looked ruefully at her clodded boots and stained breeches.

"Worse than that, they will know you have been wading through brambles!" Legolas pointed out. "In fact, they might say you appear to have been dragged through a hedge backwards!" Rowanna chuckled and swiped at him, but he insisted: "I mean it - there are scratches all across your face, and some of them look ready to fester."

She pulled a face. "So I look a fright as well as a mess? That is all I need, to draw more attention to myself!"

"Would - " He was hesitant, wary of repeating his earlier offence. "Would you let me clean them? I have willowbark that would soothe them, and make them less visible, I think."

When she nodded, he was on his feet at once; several nearby hollows in the rock held rainwater, and trying some on his tongue he found it clean and sweet enough for his purpose. Pulling a rag and small flask from the scrip that hung at his belt, he dropped into a crouch at her side and turned her chin towards him. "Hold still," he instructed.

She closed her eyes, and he worked his way carefully over her face, wiping the streaked blood gently from her temples and cheekbones and meticulously anointing the cuts. Despite his best intentions, she hissed at the sting, but he was firm. "It hurts for a moment, but you will see, by the time we reach the House even Elven eyes will barely see the scratches. Which is worth a little stinging, is it not?"

"I am not so vain!" Rowanna protested.

"You do not like the world to see your wounds. I would not call that vanity." He tucked away salve and rag in his pouch once more, and was about to rise when he noticed the burrs and bramble fragments caught in her hair. Tentatively, he began to disentangle them, noticing how smooth the weight of dark hair felt on his fingers against the rough prickling of the thorns. She let him be until he started loosening the disintegrating fragments of her plait; when she hastily put her own hands up to reweave the coil at her neck he did not demur, squatting on his heels to watch her finish. Tucking the end of her braid into its leather thong, she began scrambling to her feet; as he swiftly rose and extended a hand to her, she grimaced again. "What is it? The cold?..."

Unexpectedly the scowl became a sidelong grin. "No; I was just wondering how it is that an Elf cannot even get off the floor ungracefully." His puzzlement must have shown on his face, for she laughed outright and took his outstretched hand with exaggerated courtesy. "It does not matter..." He felt a great wave of relief as he heard the warmth returning to her voice. _Elbereth, my thanks!_

"Let us go down to dinner, then - " he hesitated, then risked it - " _mellonen_." And friendship was restored, it seemed; for Rowanna only grinned and turned to lead the way confidently down the slope towards the lights of the House which glowed in the gathering twilight.

As they descended they talked easily of inconsequential things; only after the sharp scent of pine-resin had given way to the mustier smell of oak and beech did Rowanna, scuffling her boots through the deep drifts of leaves, change the subject. "Legolas... when you spoke just now of fitting ill your part in the Song, it was no idle comment, was it? What troubles you?..."

"I spoke with Master Elrond last night," he admitted, "and he gave me a decision for which I have waited long. I shall be leaving Imladris ere long, even as the winter draws to its deepest..."

"You go with Frodo," Rowanna said with certainty. "With the Company."

With a sudden crunch of leaves underfoot Legolas stopped. _I had not thought that she would know! But of course, she is a good friend to Bilbo, and of the Evenstar, and kin to Aragorn called Estel..._ He felt a brief pang of regret for his ignorance. _Had I realised, I could have spoken to her of it long since, when I thought none but the trees could know of my endless pacing and chafing!_ "Aye. With Frodo; perhaps all the way to Mount Doom, and how that part of the Song ends even the wisest, I think, cannot yet tell." _Or whether it will be the end of the Song altogether!_ came the thin voice from the darkness, so that he was glad when Rowanna's warmer tones overrode it:

"But are you not glad rather to know, than to wait any longer on Elrond's choice?"

"Glad indeed," he agreed, "and 'tis not the journey that troubles me; to aid Frodo in his quest I would walk into Mordor and beyond. But to find I am the only one of my people to go! - "

She turned surprised eyes on him. "You mean - the only Elf? But - Glorfindel? Elladan and Elrohir?"

He wondered too late if he gave away secrets: _but all in Imladris will know before the six-day is out_ , he reasoned. "I know; I too had thought they were bound to be among Frodo's companions, or if not they then some other of the warriors of Imladris, but it is not so. 'You, Legolas, shall be for the Elves,' Master Elrond said. The Company is made up of all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, for all share in its peril, and all shall be free of the Shadow only if the Quest succeeds..."

"But - " she was counting on her fingers, as though reckoning up, "Men, and Hobbits of course; Legolas for the Elves - " Suddenly, even in the growing darkness beneath the trees, he could not mistake her smile. "And for the Dwarves?"

"Gimli son of Glóin." He bit the words off. _There, 'tis said_.

Rowanna threw back her head, and laughed and laughed. For a moment he was dumbfounded; but the delight in that throaty sound disarmed him as it always did, until he could not suppress a smile. "Oh, Legolas, if you could see your face..." She wiped water from the corner of one eye. "I wish I had been there when Master Elrond told you you must walk to Mordor in company with a Dwarf!"

"You like the Stunted Ones no more than I do!" he protested. "Grim and discourteous, you called them!"

"True, I did," she agreed, her cheeks reddening a little as though she were too warm, "but with hindsight I came too quickly to the judgement. Gimli is warm-hearted enough, once he has a little time to unbend. A few weeks on the road, given the benefit of the doubt, and you may be better friends than you think..."

"All things are possible, I suppose," he admitted, disliking the ill grace he could not keep from his voice. "At any rate, we shall find out soon enough how well Elf and Dwarf may rub along together; poor Erestor will be hard put to it for the next few days calling for food and clothing and baggage for nine. Wind and weather willing, _mellonen_ , we leave Imladris before the week is out."

"Rivendell will be a much duller place with fewer Hobbits in it," said Rowanna ruefully. "We... I shall miss you. All of you. Yes," as he raised an eyebrow at her, "even Gimli!" and he found he had to laugh, as they emerged from the woods towards the House.

******* ****

**Author's Note:**

****According to _Unfinished Tales_ Mirkwood was known both as _Taur-nu-fuin_ (a more or less literal translation, "forest under night"), and as _Taur e-Ndaedelos_ , the Forest of Great Fear [footnote 14 to _Disaster of the Gladden Fields_ ].


	15. When Wind is in the Deadly East

There followed days of turmoil around the Last Homely House. Rowanna had plenty of opportunity to observe it, for Bilbo was spending all his time shut up in his room with Frodo, and she had no intention of intruding on their precious last hours together. Nor did there seem to be much to do in the stables: to the surprise of Brethil and his Elves, it transpired that despite the great length of their likely journey the Company were to go not mounted but on foot ("It'll take them till next Mid-year!" one of the stable-lads muttered to Rowanna) and only the services of Master Samwise's faithful baggage-pony, Bill, would be required.

In the House, though, all was bustle: the Hobbits scurried from seamstresses to stores, being fitted for furlined jackets and adding to their supplies; blankets and bedrolls had to be procured, blades sharpened, pipeweed begged. Rowanna found that her best use was as a messenger, going backwards and forwards from Arwen to Erestor, from Pippin to Aragorn and back again.

She noticed that Arwen always seemed to be working, calmly counting linen or ordering dried foods from the kitchens, unhurried but unresting. _Why does she not spend the time with Aragorn?_ Rowanna wondered, noticing that the Chieftain too seemed ever occupied, largely closeted with Gandalf in the library over maps or ancient parchment volumes. Slowly it dawned on her: _they can change nothing, they know the parting must come, and it is more bearable to busy the mind elsewhere than to dwell on it..._

__Only in the evenings, when the Hall of Fire was full night after night, did she see the Evenstar and the Chieftain together, and more than once her heart ached at the sight. The minstrels were singing the lays of the ancient days which, Bilbo explained, were rarely told in full, so that Elves from all over the House crowded into the Hall to listen. On the last night before the Company were due to depart, she sat with Legolas, Merry and Pippin; even the normally irrepressible Hobbits seemed subdued, waiting in silence as the harpist softly tuned up and consulted with a striking, silver-haired singer.

"Now that is a curious choice," murmured Legolas, whose keen ears must have caught the minstrels' discussion. "We are to have the Lay of Leithian - the tale of Lúthien, daughter of Thingol the forefather of my house, and the mortal Beren. Has Bilbo told you the tale?"

Merry broke in: "Wasn't that the story Strider told us on the way here, Pip, at Weathertop? How Lúthien loved Beren, and he stole the Silmaril so he could wed her, and in the end she died so that she wouldn't have to be parted from him?..."

"That, Merry, is the Lay in a nutshell," Legolas agreed with a smile. "A story filled with sorrow and loss, and death at its ending: and yet it is known far and wide as the greatest tale of love in all the ages of Arda - though for myself I think Amrod and Nimrodel runs it close. I cannot guess why they choose to sing it tonight, even so..."

"Can you not?" said Rowanna softly into his ear, out of the Hobbits' hearing. As the light of hearth and torch sent shadows flickering around the rafters, she looked across the Hall, and felt Legolas' head turn to follow her gaze to the elaborately carved chair in which Arwen sat; drawn back a little from the company, her head leaning on the chest of the tall Man clad in black and silver who stood just behind her resting his hands lightly upon her shoulders. As they watched, Arwen twisted a little in her seat to look up at Aragorn; at the expression on her face Rowanna felt tears spring out of nowhere to her own eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I did not know," Legolas whispered, wondering, so close to her ear that she felt his breath stir her hair; "I did not know!" Then the harpist began the slow rippling of notes which almost all there recognised as the opening of the prologue to the Lay, and no more could be said as utter stillness fell upon the Hall of Fire.

***

All the next day ragged clouds blew across the sky, chased by a bitter wind from the East. Everything was ready, the last item squeezed into baggage, pack-straps tightened. Rowanna could not bear to be still, and mucked out till Brethil complained she would use up all the clean straw and sent her gloomily back to the House, where tension hung in the air like the prelude to a storm. As she passed the half-open door of Bilbo's room, forcing herself not to knock and intrude, she heard Samwise muttering: "I wish we could just get _going_ , Mister Frodo, and that's a fact - it's this hanging about I can't stand..." _I know just how you feel, Sam,_ she thought ruefully, _and I am not even going!_

When she first heard of the Company's southbound path, west of the Misty Mountains and perhaps even through the Gap of Rohan, the wild thought had come into her head that she could beg Elrond to let her ride with them, and thus make her way home: but she knew it for folly as soon as it crossed her mind. _They go secretly, and swiftly, and even were you fit enough to ride with them - much less walk, as it seems they must do! - you bring neither skill with bow, nor sword, nor the tracker's eye. Let well alone, girl, and bide your time till Spring._

Sunset came at last, herald of the darkness by which Elrond had decreed the Company must walk until they were well clear of the valley. Word had run all round the House in mid-afternoon that at this hour farewells would be said in the Hall of Fire, and when Rowanna crossed the threshold, dimly aware that her heart was pounding and that she felt oddly sick, the great room was thronging with people. Every Elf in Rivendell, it seemed, wanted to say a final word to the Company, or hear theirs, or at the very least perch on the high wide windowledges so that they could say in after days that they had seen the Fellowship depart on its Quest.

Merry and Pippin, whose cheery dispositions and love of good living had won them many friends around the halls and corners of the House, were being plied with all sorts of small parting gifts - a new pouch for pipeweed, a little bag of spiced dried apples - until Gandalf put his foot down, pointed out that every item beyond the absolutely needful was an added burden which would only slow them down, and declared the gift-giving closed.

There was Bilbo over towards the fire, deep in conversation with Gimli, the Dwarf's beard marking the steady nods of his head as he gave the Hobbit his full attention; then the two bowed deeply to one another, Gimli moved away towards the corner where his pack was clearly marked by the axe thrust through its straps, and Bilbo vanished into the crowd. Against the far wall stood Boromir, easily picked out by his height and bulk among the throng, glancing often towards the great doors as though impatient to be gone. _I never did find out whether you remembered the least thing about Mother,_ she thought, _or whether all my fears on that score were groundless. Ah well, it matters not, for I doubt we shall meet again in this world. You will go back to your City, and one day take up your Stewardship: and I am unlikely to set foot in Minas Tirith again..._

__She caught sight suddenly of the Chieftain, weaving his way through the press of people with jaw set as though determined not to be waylaid - and then glimpsed the cause of his singlemindedness across the room; a dark head crowned with silver. Aragorn drew Arwen aside for a moment out of the crowd. Rowanna saw the Evenstar kiss her fingers and touch them to his brow in an oddly formal gesture; he caught up Arwen's hand and placed it for a moment over his heart, then gave her a little bow - clipped, almost brusque - and turned away back to Gandalf.

Rowanna felt her own heart swell painfully in her chest at the look on Arwen's face - _what does it cost her not to break?_ \- , and started through the throng towards her friend; she was still struggling to make her way through when she saw Legolas, much nearer, step quickly to the Evenstar's side and murmur something which caused Arwen to press his hand gratefully and manage a half-smile. _Well done, Legolas_ , thought Rowanna with relief, grateful for the open-hearted compassion of the gesture. _I knew you understood last night, at the singing of the Lay..._ Though she had struggled to follow the long cantos, music and voice had caused the bare bones of the tale so deeply to stir her that she had felt, afterwards, as though simply by knowing such a thing could be, the world was somehow changed. _The love of an Elf for a mortal_ , she reflected now as she looked on the Evenstar, _all said it was impossible: and yet their love lives still in story and song, and we will see the tale repeated in our Age..._

She was still lost in her musing when Legolas, turning from Arwen, caught her eye for an instant through the shifting crowds, raised an eyebrow - _at my dreaming, no doubt!_ she thought - and sent her a fleeting smile whose warmth touched her as surely as though he stood at her side. _Even at such a moment, when they walk into distant peril with uncertain return, he can keep a light heart! Rivendell will be the darker without his hope and good cheer -_

Then Elrond was moving through the Hall with the wizard, the thronging Elves falling away to give them passage, Erestor motioning to have the great doors of the entrance-hall opened - they were going, out on to the steps, Boromir leading the Hobbits, Dwarf and Elf, Aragorn bringing up the rear, and Elrond motioning Bilbo through ahead of him as the Hall-doors closed behind them. From the corner of her eye Rowanna caught a flash of silver-grey as Arwen turned on her heel and walked swiftly, almost ran, from the Hall. _Should I?_ \- wondered Rowanna, then: _Yes_ , and followed.

So the Company fell into line and made their way slowly down towards the bridge in the gathering gloom, Gandalf leading, Sam and the faithful Bill bringing up the rear: while in her chamber Arwen sat white-faced and silent, gripping Rowanna's hands so tightly that when the mortal woman went to bed that night she could still see the marks of the Evenstar's fingers. And thus the Fellowship departed from Rivendell.

*******

**Author's Notes** ****

How widely Aragorn and Arwen's relationship was known among Elves outside Rivendell before their marriage is up for debate - I could see arguments that being the gossips most Elves seem to be, it could have been known in Mirkwood, and if you decide that Legolas and Aragorn knew each other before the Council of Elrond then Legolas would almost certainly know of it. On the other hand, given Elrond's less than total enthusiasm for the idea, and the need to keep Aragorn's identity as secret as possible, it could well be taboo to speak of it outside Rivendell: and since for the purposes of this fic I decided Legolas and Aragorn hadn't met before, and that Legolas is something of an outsider in Rivendell who on this visit has spent most of his time either riding with Rowanna or talking to trees, it seemed reasonable that he might not know of it even by the time the Fellowship were due to depart.


	16. Till the Snows are Melted

"Pass me that volume on the War of Wrath, would you, my dear?" Bilbo, almost invisible beneath the layers of woollens, comforters and cloaks wrapped around him, glanced up from his high stool at the end of the library table. It was a freezing day in the depths of winter, and the fires were lit everywhere in the Last Homely House - except, of course, in the library, which Elrond had expressly ordered to be built without fireplaces so that no-one should ever be tempted so to risk his precious books and scrolls.

Rowanna reluctantly uncurled one hand in its fingerless knitted glove from the fur muff on her lap. "This one bound in green? But," frowning as she wondered as usual whether she was mixing up her ancient battles, "why the War of Wrath, Bilbo? What does - "

"Dragons, my dear girl, dragons," interrupted Bilbo a trifle impatiently. "Ancalagon the Black, specifically, I just need to check a small point - " __

_Of course dragons_ , thought Rowanna with an inward sigh, _nothing but dragons all this week_. She pushed the small volume down towards Bilbo's end of the table, blew on her fingers a few times and hastily buried them in her fur once more as she attempted to return her attention to the tables of Sindarin lenitions Bilbo was urging her to master. "Good as your ear and your memory may be," he had insisted, "no-one will ever think you a true speaker of the Grey Tongue if you don't know the sound-shifts - " __

_As if anyone would ever take me for an Elf, anyway!_ Rowanna thought rebelliously as she struggled to keep her mind on her task and not on the ever-encroaching cold. _You could be back in your room with a roaring fire doing this_ , she reminded herself, but she knew well enough she would not go; she wanted the company, even rather tetchy company buried beneath a pile of books and papers, as much as Bilbo did. She also suspected that only the cold of the library could keep her awake; ever since the day Caradhras had reared in front of her in the stable-yard her sleep had been restless, a new and unpleasant experience as far as she was concerned, and she woke several times a night with a strange feeling of dread she could not pin down and huddled in her blankets unwilling to try to sleep again.

Nearly a month had passed since the Company had departed, and Rivendell was a subdued, almost melancholy place. The valley had lain shrouded in grey mist for days at a time, hiding the mountains from view and muffling all sound save the steady dripping of water from the bare branches; then the mist had yielded to yellowish cloud - which Bilbo assured her meant snow on the high mountains - and bitter cold. The Hall of Fire lay silent and unused, echoing sadly to any lone footfall which crossed it, and Elrond's folk melted away into the chambers and corners of the House and talked in murmurs. __

_Stop moping around_ , Rowanna heard her mother's voice in her head, _and do something useful!_ So when she was not wanted in the stables, or practising at the archery-butts (for she had not forgotten Legolas' remark about learning to shoot, and had badgered the armsmasters until one of them agreed to teach her) she and Bilbo spent their mornings in the library and their afternoons, as often as not, taking tea and kitchen dainties to Arwen and attempting to engage the Evenstar in whatever cheering, inconsequential conversation the pair of them could devise.

"Does no-one ever go to her but us, Bilbo?" Rowanna ventured to ask one day in the privacy of the library. "Surely everyone can see that she must need companionship now - and I thought all Rivendell was devoted to her! Why is she always alone?"

"Well, not quite always," Bilbo corrected, looking up from the scroll he was perusing. "She is with Elrond often enough, you know, in the evenings - and Elladan and Elrohir would be with her, if they hadn't gone haring off westwards again a fortnight ago to take messages to the Angle about something or other. But you're right, few enough of her father's folk would go and knock on her door. There's a tangle of reasons, I suppose - you must remember she was off in Lothlórien with her grandmother for years and years till not so long ago. And Elrond's people all adore her, that's true, but rather as they might love the evening star itself - a distant thing of inexpressible beauty, not one you share a cosy fireside chat with. But I think there's more to it than that, now..." He broke off, seeming suddenly flustered, and made great play of searching for his pen in the pile of papers scattered before him.

"What, Bilbo?" Rowanna insisted. "What do you mean?" Bilbo sighed, and seemed to dash something from the corner of his eye.

"She's going to die," he said bleakly. Then, hearing Rowanna's sharp intake of breath, he added hastily: "No, no, not now, not next week! But she has pledged herself to Aragorn, and you know what that means - come, come, you remember the tale of her foremother Lúthien? She has chosen mortality, and one day she will leave this world indeed, and the Elves will lose the one they most love. It is a great grief to her father's people, and more - I think to them it must be rather like knowing someone who has some terrible wasting sickness; you can see nothing, but you know it's there, and feel - almost shamed, somehow, that you cannot bear to speak of it, and so in the end you avoid talking to them at all if you can. And even stranger to the Elves, and worse, is that Arwen chooses this fate, is walking away from them down her own path with her eyes open, and nothing in all the powers or chances of this world will turn her aside."

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then Bilbo shuffled his papers together vigorously, deposited the dragon-shaped granite paperweight carved for him once by Balin on top of them with a thud, and fixed Rowanna with a stern glare. "Now then - letter-shifts. What would _bess_ become after _i_?"

***

So the mornings wore away in study, and the afternoons passed as cheerfully as the trio which met for tea in Arwen's rooms could contrive; Arwen sewed or used her small hand-loom, Bilbo and Rowanna rewarded themselves for their chilly hours of work with plenty of cake, and there were a great many tales of days ancient and more recent. Bilbo held his pupil to her promise of unravelling her complicated family history for him, and so Arwen did finally hear the story of Rowanna's lineage - though without ever fulfilling the mortal woman's prediction that it would put her to sleep. Over several afternoons Rowanna dutifully recited the whole: her mother's welcome into Lady Théodwyn's service after Rowanna's father's death in the orc-raid, and her own upbringing in Éomund's great hall in the Eastfold; the Marshal's death ten years later, followed swiftly by his wife's ("they said she died of a broken heart, poor lady, and it could well be so,") and the breaking up of her household.

"Théoden King took her children into his own royal house then; and there Mother and I could not follow them, having none of their claims on the King. I think it was around that time that Father's kin in Minas Tirith tried again to persuade Mother to return to them; I remember a messenger coming all the way from the White City, and Mother reading a letter and then hurling it into the fire and swearing that she would not go back to Gondor just to be conveniently re-married to whichever noble took their fancy, for she had had the best husband in the world and wanted no other..."

"But how did you live, then, my dear, with no menfolk to protect you both?" asked Bilbo anxiously. Arwen glanced up from her work, and Rowanna saw her struggle to suppress her smile.

"Mother is the finest embroideress in all Rohan," she said proudly. "She was known for her work for Lady Théodwyn, and half the court at Edoras wanted her to embroider their gowns. We had gold put by from the weregild Mother was paid for Father's death in Lord Éomund's service; so she could buy a little house in Edoras, close by Meduseld, and keep us both with her needle. I wish I could show her your work, though, Arwen - I think even she never did anything so exquisite."

The Evenstar was sitting drawn back a little from the fire, taking care not to scorch the great swathe of dark cloth which lay across her knees and which she was embroidering with sparkling silver thread. "You are not as clumsy as you claimed with every form of needle yourself!" she teased, nodding towards the headstall in her companion's lap.

"I can manage saddle stitch - there's not much delicacy needed for that!" Rowanna agreed, laughing. "And I can mend a tear in a shirt or cloak well enough to make shift for myself, though you'd always see the join. But Mother despaired long ago of me following in her footsteps - I never had the patience for the fine gold-work she made our living by; so in the end she had to agree to my being prenticed to Aelstan as a horse-breeder back out in the Eastfold, since quite clearly that was all I was fit for!"

"You must have been a happy child in Éomund's household, then, even though you had only your mother," Arwen remarked, looking suddenly a little wistful. Rowanna blinked, caught unawares.

"I.. I suppose so. Yes, for the most part - it was a huge hall, and I ran half wild on the plains, and they taught me to ride with all the other children of the household..." _Who laughed at you for your black hair and your odd speech_ , whispered resentful childhood memory somewhere deep within, _and called you Crow..._ "They used to tease me, because I was southern and strange - except for Éomer, Lord Éomund's son. Even though he was three years younger than I, he was so fiery and proud that all the others did as he said, and he would tell them it was shameful to mock a guest of the Mark so and harangue them all into treating me better!" Laughter bubbled up in her at the thought. "I'd quite forgotten that, it seems so long ago. He is Marshal of the Eastmark himself, now, and his little sister Éowyn who used to make me play shieldmaidens with her is mistress of the Golden Hall of Meduseld!" She fell silent, staring into the fire. _I wonder how things fare in Edoras. I wonder if Mother is well..._

Her companions must have guessed which way her thoughts tended, for they did not clamour for more of the story, but turned to talking quietly of Bilbo's researches and the latest progress of his book. The following afternoon, Bilbo said he thought he was finally getting somewhere with his chapter on the great worm Smaug, and was so determined to finish it that he took his notes back to his room to work on over tea. Rowanna therefore went alone to join Arwen in the afternoon, glad to thaw out the library's chill from her bones by huddling close to the Evenstar's small hearth.

"You're very quiet today," Arwen observed after a while. "And you look a little pale - you have not taken cold sitting all those hours in the library, have you?"

"I - no, I do not think so." Rowanna sighed heavily. "I am weary, Arwen, that is all."

"Did you sleep badly? There are black shadows under your eyes."

"I did not sleep well," Rowanna confessed. "I had some strange dreams..."

"Dreams?" Arwen put down her needlework and looked at Rowanna sharply. "What kind of dreams? Were they troubling?"

"I don't know... yes, they were, for when I woke I felt as though a cold shadow lay over me, and could not shake it off. Every time I tried to go back to sleep I woke the same way again; but what I dreamt, I could not tell you, for I remember nothing of them at all. But do not worry, Arwen - they were just dreams, not of any account."

The Evenstar frowned, but said no more for the moment. When Rowanna looked no brighter the following afternoon, however, she put the question again; Rowanna shivered and huddled closer to the fire as though the very memory chilled her. "It came again, all last night, the same dream - I'm sure it was, for the feeling when I woke was the same, only stronger; I woke up trembling and wanting to weep, and knowing something was terribly wrong and that I had to go, before it was too late..."

"Go - whither?" asked Arwen softly.

"Go home," Rowanna whispered, staring into the flames. "Back to Edoras - to Mother. She was in the dream, terribly unhappy, and afraid - I do not think in my life I ever saw her afraid! and she wanted me, and I knew I had to go..."

She was startled out of her reverie by movement; Arwen was on her knees next to her, embroidery abandoned on her chair, holding her hands and looking intently into her face.

"Rowanna, you must speak to Father about this."

"To Master Elrond? About a bad dream? Oh, Arwen, there is no need - I don't want a sleeping-draught -"

"I did not speak of physic," Arwen broke in gently, "though if need be I am sure Father could give you something to help you to undisturbed sleep. But this must not be lightly disregarded - "

"It was only a dream!" Rowanna protested, feeling suddenly alarmed by Arwen's concern. The Evenstar shook her head.

"Perhaps; but remember, I have known your mother's foremothers these many mortal generations. You are a Dúnadaneth; the women of your line do not go in for idle night-time fancies, Rowanna, as a rule, and sometimes see with more than the day's eye. Please - I do not wish to frighten you - but promise me you will come and sup with Father and me this evening, and tell him of this." __

_Elvish whim_ , Rowanna insisted to herself, _more of this Firstborn obsession with fate and doom when probably all I need is some better weather so I can tire myself out with the horses as usual!_ But she could not deny that Arwen was both kind and wise, and hardly likely to worry her needlessly; and so she agreed to go that evening.

***

Elrond listened carefully to Rowanna's account; then got up from his chair, took hold of her wrists, and gazed into her eyes until she felt her head begin to swim at his searching gaze. When he released her he did not, as Rowanna had secretly hoped, make light of Arwen's fears and reassure them that all was well. If anything, frowning as he paced back and forth across the chamber, he seemed inclined to lend even greater weight both to the fact that she had been dreaming at all, and to the meaning of her dream, and before long had quite convinced Rowanna that the voices of her sleep might speak truly.

"But - in that case, Master Elrond, I - I cannot stay here any longer!" Rowanna burst out, leaping up from her chair as though she would depart that very moment. "If what you say is true, then - my mother may be in trouble, or in pain, and in need of me! I must go to her!"

"I would not in any way gainsay you, my child," Elrond put in gravely, "but you must consider how the land may now lie between Imladris and Edoras. The times grow dark around us and the ways uncertain, and I would not have you risk your own life to orc or warg - or worse."

Rowanna shook her head. "Your pardon, my lord, but - we speak of my mother whom I love, and it matters not to me what the risks are! If she needs me, then go to her I will though all the orcs of Mordor stand between!"

"Such straits, I hope, we have not quite reached even yet," Elrond murmured dryly, and the mortal woman flushed. "In any case," he went on, "neither love nor valour will serve to unlock winter's grasp on the mountain passes, I fear. Consider: I know not how closely you heeded the accounts of the Council after Frodo arrived, but we have known since that day that Saruman in his tower at Orthanc is turned against the rest of the Wise. Which means - " as Rowanna looked blank - "that the Gap of Rohan may well be closed to any who are seen to approach it from Imladris, and that in any case the western approach to your homeland, by the Misty Mountains and the Fords of Isen, must be growing lawless and perilous. Which leaves you with but one course; east of the Mountains, through the Vale of Anduin to Lórien and beyond..."

"Well, then we can go that way!" Rowanna exclaimed. "There are maps in plenty in the library; there must be one of the Mountains and the land to the East - we could make a copy; and Dirgon can escort me -"

"But to make your way south to Rohan with any speed you would need horses," Elrond pointed out. "And since any who would go South by the eastward way must needs cross the Mountains by the High Pass, it cannot be done before the spring thaws; the Pass is hazardous to riders at the best of times, but impossible in the snow unless you wish to risk your horses' legs or their necks!"

Rowanna shuddered, remembering occasional forays on horseback into the foothills of the White Mountains in early spring: _mud and potholes and pockets of snow to betray the footing, even after the thaw, and we nearly lost the pack-mule when he slipped on the path..._ She nodded reluctantly, and felt frustrated tears springing to her eyes: with a soft rustle of skirts Arwen moved to sit beside her, squeezing her hand and bending a questioning gaze on her father. Elrond sighed.

"I do not doubt your courage, child, nor dispute your wish to go," he conceded. "And indeed, I have been watching and hoping for the first signs of Stirring myself. I have much need of counsel from Lothlórien, and must send messengers southwards as soon as the Pass can be tried; for I would not call the Enemy's attention to the way west of the Mountains by sending any more out from Imladris by that road. "

"How soon?" asked Rowanna hoarsely, scrubbing at her face.

"We must wait some weeks yet, in all likelihood. The year's turning is a month gone already, but it is rare to see the thaw yet; I cannot recall such an early Stirring since before the last time the White Council met, half a Great Year ago. We can but watch, and hope."

All Rowanna could do, then, was to work away in the stables and the library; bear Arwen and Bilbo company as cheerfully as she could, and try to ignore the slowly swelling tide of unease which rose nightly into her sleep, and began to lap even at her waking hours, insisting: _You cannot wait! You need to go!_

A week later came the worst night's sleep she had known in her life: again and again she woke bolt upright in bed, shaking, and after the third time lit the lamp. Arwen appeared in her doorway almost at once, and insisted on calling for warm drinks and sitting out the rest of the night with her. At last, towards dawn, with the Evenstar's soft song enfolding her, Rowanna managed to drop into a fitful doze. She woke, foggily, into a late morning of bright sunshine and birdsong, and Arwen in the windowseat smiling broadly. There was a faint sound drifting in through the window which for a moment Rowanna could not place; then it came to her - the noise of rushing water. The Bruinen was in full spate as the snowmelt raced down the valley, and the thaw had come.

*******

**Author's Notes:**

Some notes on dates etc, just for clarity: Rowanna was born, in Rohan, in 2988 T.A. (so at the time P&C begins she is thirty). Her father was killed in 2992. Éomund, chief Marshal of the Mark, was killed, also in an orc-ambush, in 3002, and "not long after Théodwyn [his wife] took sick and died", at which point Théoden took Éomer and Éowyn into his household (LoTR Appendix A). The White Council had last met in 2953, 65 years before (half a Great Year being in fact 72 years).


	17. Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold

Rowanna shivered, drawing her cloak more snugly about her, and shifted closer to the warm bulk of the horses against the icy gusts which whipped between the towering cliffs of the High Pass. Though she was well used to the winter winds which raced across the plains of the Riddermark, since they climbed above the treeline two days earlier she had been colder than ever in her life before.

_And that despite the finest winter gear I ever wore_ , she reminded herself, thankful yet again for the Elves' skill in making wonderfully light but warm mountain clothing, from furlined boots and jerkins to silk underlayers. _Clothes of mere Mortal make will take some getting used to back in the Mark!_ she thought ruefully, wondering how long she could wear and repair her Rivendell riding boots, the best-fitting she had ever had. She intended to treasure her butter-soft leather gloves, a parting gift from Arwen which the Evenstar had embroidered herself with an intricate pattern of leaves and stars.

The party of six had climbed out of the valley in brilliant sunshine, and their first day's ride had been pleasant enough; but as they rose into the shadow of the Misty Mountains, such warmth as the early spring sun could give was cut off until almost noon; the sunshine was often suddenly replaced by lashing sleet, and Rowanna struggled in the damp dawns to loosen up her frozen bones and get the blood flowing in stiffened limbs, longing for a hot cup of Bilbo's coffee as she munched gloomily on a few dried fruits and took a mouthful of water. On their second night in the mountains, a vicious storm had whipped up the valley from nowhere, and they had all crushed as tightly as they could into the lee of a great boulder, the horses close together on the outside with snow settling on their blankets and their manes, and longed for morning as the wind screamed past them.

In general, though, the nights were merely uncomfortable, as the company huddled together in the shelter of whatever overhang they found to keep them from the worst of the bone-biting cold, pressing close to the horses' steaming flanks, and snatched what fitful sleep they could. _No need for bad dreams to wake me, here!_ Rowanna would grimace as she shifted cautiously, trying to shove a fold of cloak between her back or hip and the sharp edge of rock which always seemed to jut in just the wrong place. In truth, although she still woke each morning with a faint feeling of sickly unease, the worst of her night-terror had ebbed for now; simply having heeded its call and begun the journey south seemed to have taken away the dreaming's desperate edge. For this she was grateful, since waking screaming in the night-watches would have done little to endear her to the rest of the company.

"Neither _yrch_ nor wolves have been sighted in this stretch of the mountains for many a year, thanks to the Beornings," Maentâl, who led the party, had told them as they made their first night's stop; "but the times grow dark, and we know not what evils may be drawing close to Imladris once more. So be wary! We will avoid sleeping in caves if we can, keep watch at night, and scout ahead by day. And should anything trouble us," he added, fixing Rowanna with a stern eye, "you, my lady, will betake yourself at once behind the nearest boulder and allow us, and Master Dirgon who I know is no ill hand with a bow, to deal with it! Am I understood?"

So they had trudged painstakingly for days into the looming grey fastness of the Misty Mountains. _And well they are named_ , Rowanna often thought, as she glanced off to one side or the other and found she could not glimpse the depths of the clefts and valleys for the shifting patches of fog which wreathed about them. Small stones would rattle and clatter away, sending echoes flying back and forth across the pass, as a foot or a hoof slipped; ravens would occasionally give out a harsh, gloomy caw from the rocks; now and again there was a rushing of water as a snow-swollen stream tumbled down the cliffs to left or right, and over all came the keening whine of the wind.

The jagged peaks above them cast the path into deep shadow for much of the day; even clear blue skies did little to ease the party's spirits, as Maentâl and Mîrwen looked anxiously up at the sun beating on the dazzling white cornices which loomed over the pass. _"Tirim an taltloss,"_ Mîrwen tried to explain, and then as Rowanna looked blank, "I know not in your tongue - slipping-of-snow?" _Avalanche!_ shuddered Rowanna, who had never seen one, but remembered fearful childhood tales from herders returned from the White Mountains.

"It is not likely," Maentâl tried to reassure her, "the great falls of snow and rock come rarely before summer; but we must take care."

The Elves' horses were remarkably sure-footed, hardly ever making a false step, and Dirgon's Edlyn, retracing the path over which she had come the previous summer, seemed to take her lead from them and to bear Dirgon without too many stumbles until she began to tire towards the end of each day. Rowanna had expected to need full days of rest for the horses as they ascended to the pass, but Maentâl had shaken his head.

"We will give the beasts a few hours' rest here and there whenever we can; but you will find it too cold on the higher reaches to want to stop them for long, except at night when we have little choice. Nor will there be grazing to speak of above the trees' line, hence the grain we carry, and nowhere safe to turn them loose. They will snatch rest whenever we must scout and clear the path ahead; and once we get down - Powers willing! - into Rhovanion, where the grazing is good and the land kinder, we will rest them fully and let them regain their strength."

_And I shall welcome it as much as they!_ thought Rowanna, though she would never have said so aloud. She had spent the days while waiting to depart from Rivendell riding and walking as much as she could, yet knew she was still not as strong as she had been before her injury; by the second day out from the valley she ached all over, but gritted her teeth and bore it. _You will be fitter the longer you go on; and from what Maentâl says, this is the most gruelling stretch of all our road..._ __

_"Daro!"_ Again and again the call to halt came from whichever of the Elves was scouting ahead, and one or two, usually aided by Dirgon, would undo their shovels from their straps and make their way up to help clear a small mudslide or a lingering pocket of deeper snow; often the rocks they found beneath would have cut their mounts' legs to ribbons had they fallen, making the riders wary of every doubtful stretch. Rowanna stood back soothing the horses, marvelling at the Elven beasts' patience; _I thought Elf-bred stock highly strung, but I believe they truly understand why up here their safety depends on their steadiness! And that helps to calm Edlyn, too; I feared she might give us more trouble than she does._ __

_Elrond was right to hold us back the extra week till the worst of this mud was gone_ , she admitted as yet another slipped heap of earth and rock was shovelled from the path ahead, _much though I chafed at the delay!_ She had requested an audience with Elrond as quickly as she could get herself dressed and reasonably groomed on the morning the thaw came; as they sat in his chamber looking at the suddenly budding branches outside the window, hearing the cascades of birdsong and the bubbling voice of the Bruinen, she had found his mood much changed.

"Erestor is putting all that is needful in train," he told her briskly, "arranging your mounts and gear; go to him for anything you need. I have been thinking on the messengers I would send to Lothlórien, and will call to me today those I judge best skilled to lead a mounted party over the High Pass; even after the snowmelt, the hazards will be many. Yet it seems that is indeed your path; for sooner than chance might have had it, the thaw is come, and the road opened to you. "

Irritation flared in Rowanna for a moment: _more than anything in the world I willed to go, and that was not enough; but because you deem this early thaw the work of the Powers, and more than a caprice of the weather in our favour, all is changed?_ She quelled it, though, and held her tongue: _if Master Elrond believes the world so ordered that you can take the path you would choose anyway, best not to argue!_

"Pressed though we are," Elrond went on, "we cannot have you attempt the mountain paths for some days yet; if the weather holds, you will leave in a six-day, and by the time you are out of the valley and into the foothills your road should be passable."

Then, of course, she had had to go to Bilbo, and break her news to him with sinking heart as she realised how upset he might be; in fact, the old Hobbit managed a cheerfulness which touched her all the more for being visibly a little forced.

"That's excellent - think of all the practice you will get at the Grey Tongue on the way! Oh, I shall manage well enough, dear girl, don't worry about me - I got along perfectly all right before you were here, did I not? I've got plenty to do, after all - as well as the tale of the Lonely Mountain, there are all the adventures Frodo told me about to write up, now! And I'll need to go and take tea with Arwen in the afternoons - can't have her getting too lonely, can we? - and read her all my latest drafts. Who knows, I may even have finished it by the time you get back - " He broke off and fussed with his papers, suddenly. "But of course, how foolish of me, you won't be coming back I don't suppose..."

"It's a long way back from Rohan, Bilbo," Rowanna admitted with a sigh; "but who knows what the future holds? So be sure to finish your book!" And with that encouragement quelling her pang of guilt, she had to be content.

Parting from Arwen was a great wrench: yet the Evenstar seemed strangely untroubled by it, even given her usual serenity. "We will meet again in this world, Rowanna, you and I," she maintained, smiling as though at something the mortal woman could not see. "For I will not dwell all my days in Imladris, this I know; and many paths and errands may all meet at one ending. Have courage, and the Powers speed you; you and your mother will be in my thoughts." Two dark heads came together, the two women hugged each other tightly, and Rowanna realised that however else her time in Rivendell had changed her, here she had gained a true and lifelong friend.

Elladan and Elrohir reappeared from the west in time to wish the eastbound party good speed. "Though you must be quite mad, wanting to take horses over the Pass this early in the year," Elrohir drawled as he stepped forward to give Rowanna his farewell. "A fine sight you will make for the Beornings, wallowing about in the mud. Try not to break your neck - and take care of Gelion; he's a good beast, and I did not train him just to have his legs snapped half-way up a mountain!" __

_And I have no idea what I am doing where the care of a horse is concerned, I suppose,_ Rowanna growled inwardly. _Is that your way of telling me to take care? Or am I really still just an amusement after all this time?_ Before she could come up with a suitably withering reply, however, Elrohir had clasped her round the waist and kissed her with enough vigour to cause the watching Elves to murmur, and Arwen to roll her eyes sympathetically at Rowanna behind her brother's back.

"Have a care on the road," Elladan urged as he gave Rowanna a clasp of arms, "and the Powers grant your mother safe and well when you reach her..."

"And we all know how well-disposed the Powers are wont to be in such matters!" put in Elrohir sharply, before turning on his heel and stalking back towards the House.

"Pay no heed to him," Elladan said softly. "He remembers, that is all, and it takes him hard -" _Their mother!_ Rowanna realised, wincing, remembering the sadness in Bilbo's voice as he had told her this part of Rivendell's history. She half-turned to look for Elrohir; but he was already gone. Elladan kissed her affectionately on the cheek and went to stand with Arwen and Master Elrond, and with little further ado the party was waved off down the valley to begin the long road to the mountains.

A sudden snort from Gelion brought Rowanna's wandering thoughts back to the present; jutting out on one side of the path was a great rock, narrowing the defile for a moment so that the horses must again tread with special care. As she nudged Gelion gently past it, Rowanna's attention was caught by another huge boulder which sat against the cliff-wall beyond, almost as though wedged into a gap. One of the Elves noticed her curious look. "That," he commented, "was once the gate into the orc-halls, when the foul things infested these parts of the mountains." __

_Of course!_ Rowanna smiled, remembering Bilbo's story of his escape with Gandalf and the dwarves from the halls of the Great Goblin years before. _Bilbo said Gandalf was going to get the gate blocked up by a giant, and it seems the wizard was as good as his word! But - if we have passed the goblin-gate, then we must be nearly -_

A call from Maentâl confirmed her thought even as it formed: _"Sí girith!"_ They rounded a final bend, and she saw that at last their days of painstaking climbing had brought them to the High Pass itself.

Here, between the hulking granite cliffs on either side, the path briefly widened and flattened a little to make a stopping-point where a dozen or more travellers and their mounts might rest. To either side of the way, Rowanna saw the mouths of caves, let into the rock by nature or craft; with a crunching of stone underfoot, several huge figures emerged as though from the very cliffs into the midday light to challenge the party, and Maentâl stepped forward to speak with them. These, she realised, must be the Beornings, the hunters of orc and warg, and the keepers of the pass.

They were as tall as the Elves, but twice as broad, and swathed in such thick furs that they seemed to loom over the travellers. One sported so shaggy a mass of black hair and beard that Rowanna could almost believe Bilbo's fanciful tales about their forefather shape-shifting into a great black bear; the other two, to her surprise, were as blond as any Rohirrim, and when they switched out of their heavily-accented Westron to mutter in asides to one another, she was startled to realise she recognised words and even whole phrases of their tongue.

While the horses dozed and the mortals shivered, the discussions went on; from the snatches Rowanna overheard as she stamped her feet for warmth, it seemed that as the first mounted party up from the West since the thaw, they were expected to give the Beornings a full report on the state of the path, and were also being questioned about any sight or sound of orcs in the mountains. At last Maentâl handed over with a bow a heavy, clinking leather pouch removed from one of his saddle-bags, and Rowanna remembered Gimli's rueful remark about the Beornings' steep tolls.

"Where do they _keep_ all that gold?" she whispered to one of the Elves, trusting to the Grey Tongue lest she be overheard. He grinned and flicked his head towards the mouth of the cave hollowed into the rock behind the passkeepers, and in the shadows beyond she glimpsed what looked like a great iron-bound chest.

"They bring well-armed parties up here every so often to carry down the gold - and they've kept the passes clear of orcs for a while now, there are none left to steal from them. Besides, would _you_ climb all the way up here to try to rob Men that size?"

"But why take the tolls at the very top?"

"Because below us the path soon branches off into many ways, and it would take half a hundred pass-keepers to man them all and not miss out on any of the gold," the Elf retorted dryly. "Which, to be fair," he added, "they say they need, to keep the widows and orphans made in their long battles to clear the mountains of the orcish scum. In any case, if they are willing to cart it all the way back down the mountain, I say they are welcome to it!"

With the negotiations successfully concluded, the Beornings became jovial enough, offering hot spiced wine to thaw out chilled bones, and handfuls of grain for the horses. "Watch you let them rest and eat well when you get down into the good grass of Rhovanion," urged the black-haired Man, looking critically at their mounts. "I know you elvish folk like slender elegant horseflesh, but those beasts look hungry to me, and well they might after such a climb! You must be in a hurry indeed, to try the Pass this early in the year - still, it is good to know it is clear; few enough travellers have passed this way these last months either from east or west, and we are glad of the company - and of your fees of course!" He roared with laughter and gave Maentâl a slap on the shoulder that would have sent most Men reeling.

"Come back and see us again soon!" called his lieutenant, adding in a grinning aside in his own tongue, "especially if they bring another of those black-haired Dúnadan wenches with them. Makes a nice change from skinny Elves!"

"Don't count on it!" retorted Rowanna in Rohirric over her shoulder as she walked Gelion on; and clearly the Beorning could catch the gist of her tongue as easily as she could his, for he started as though he had been stung, and gave her the satisfaction before she was out of sight of blushing to the roots of his hair.

***

They walked the horses out of the shadow of the cliffs around the Pass, around the first bend of the descending path, into the midday sunlight, and Rowanna gasped. Before them the mountains fell away steeply, the path winding dizzyingly away into the dark green of pine-forests below; spread out beyond was a great sweep of plain, and far off she thought she saw the sun glint on water.

"It is water," agreed Mîrwen when she asked, "the Great River Anduin, though not so great as when it flows through the lands far to the south..." _The Langflood!_ The knowledge that this was the very same river which meandered along the borderlands of the Wold and the Eastemnet suddenly made Rowanna feel as though the Riddermark was not, after all, so impossibly far away.

"And that? That great dark smudge, like a cloud, on the horizon?"

"Dark indeed." Mîrwen frowned. "You see only its western edge, for it stretches near seventy leagues eastwards, and southwards as far as Lothlórien. That is the Forest-under-night - in your tongue, Mirkwood."

"We will descend as far as we can today," broke in Maentâl, "for if we can reach the treeline we will be better protected against change in the weather, and can turn the horses loose to rest. But have a care; though climbing is the more strenuous, on the way down you are more like to stumble. We will not linger, but nor must we over-hasten."

So the company descended in a steady line, strung out along the path and scouting ahead still for pockets of unmelted snow or deep mud. Though she did her best to watch the road, Rowanna found her eyes drawn time and again to the distant haze that marked the borders of Mirkwood. _Legolas' home! It looks a dark dwelling for one so light of heart - but then, perhaps it was the need of light that made him so... Is he well?_ A chill ran through her as another thought occurred: _Is he even alive? How do they all fare, Frodo and his Fellowship?_ She felt her chest tighten painfully, and swallowed hard at the sudden lump in her throat. _If Powers there be and if you do indeed order the seeming chances of this world, guard him! Keep his heart warm and his smile ready!_

__So for two more days they dropped down out of the mountains, through the forests of pine which steadily gave way to bracken, and then finally to open valleys already rich with the first grasses of spring. Here Maentâl called a rest day; the horses wandered joyfully off to roll or graze (the Elves' horses apparently never needed tethering, coming willingly at a call), Rowanna put a few handfuls of lentils to soak overnight to stew with the rabbits that Mîrwen hoped to snare, and there was talk of their onward road.

"Another day to the Old Ford - "

"But why do we go all the way to the River?" Rowanna protested. "We do not cross it, and that must take us out of our way too far east - surely we waste time - "

"We lose time to gain it," one of the Elves explained. "Were we on foot and hunting only for ourselves we could hug the mountains, but nearer Anduin the going is easier for the horses, and there are more villages of Men - the grazing is better, and we can get grain for the beasts, who will give us greater speed for being better fed."

Rowanna could not fault this reasoning, and so for all her chafing, the extra day was spent travelling eastwards. Then at last they could turn, and with the river rushing in its stony bed within earshot on their left, bear southwards down the Vale of Anduin. Now their progress was swifter, and trotting or cantering steadily the leagues fell away behind them. Here and there they saw a handful of cottages sheltered by clumps of trees, and one of the Elves would turn aside to offer a little coin for grain or goats' milk, for the Firstborn were well thought of by the woodsmen of the vale who had sometimes been protected by the Mirkwood Elves to the east. But they also passed villages which were clearly deserted, their rush-thatched roofs fallen into disrepair and all trace of life gone.

On the third day from the Ford they slowed a little as they came into marshy land where great beds of rushes grew; "Loeg Ningloron," one of the Elves told Rowanna. "In the Common tongue, the Gladden Fields; the river comes in from the west there, see, and we must ford it with care, for it will still be swollen with snow-melt from the Hithaeglir."

Rowanna grimaced at the thought. "How deep?"

"If we choose carefully, shallow enough for the horses to walk," she was assured, and so it proved. Cloaks and quivers were bundled up and tied behind the saddles in case of mishap before Mîrwen and her steady mare led the way; the icy water rippled and rushed around the horse's legs, but she made no mis-step, found no hidden holes or rocks to trip her, and the rest followed cautiously one by one. Before they were over, the water was up to the riders' calves and Rowanna felt certain she would never have feeling in her frozen legs again; but all got safely across with neither loss of gear nor injury, and so she counted her blessings and persuaded the Elves to walk for a while until her feet warmed.

The weather held fair, with high white clouds chased across the sky by a swift wind; the day after they crossed the Gladden, Maentâl was scanning the sky ahead of them when he gave a cry and gestured upwards. _"Tíro thoron dhaer!"_ And indeed, though Rowanna could not see it till another of the Elves pointed it out to her, a great eagle was flying far above them, not circling in the updraught from the mountains but beating its great wings in a determined line southwards.

"Almost as though his path was one with ours!" murmured Mîrwen. "Who knows where he is bound?"

They rode, rested, rode again. Rowanna began to lose all sense of time, of the days since they had left Rivendell, and to feel as though they had been riding thus for ever on and on through the wide green lands with the snow-capped mountains always guarding their right flank, and the river their left. At last one afternoon the westering sun lit up a strange golden haze which seemed to lie across their road.

"Our destination, though not yours," Maentâl told Rowanna and Dirgon, pointing. "Yonder lies the Golden Wood. By nightfall we will come beneath the eaves of Lothlórien."

*******

**Author's Notes:**

Descriptions of the Misty Mountains and the High Pass draw on _The Hobbit_ , particularly Chapter IV; for the Beornings I drew both on _The Hobbit_ and on _LOTR_ with the help of the HASA Resources Library. The idea that the Beornings' tongue and Rohirric might have enough similarities for Rowanna and a Beorning to understand one another is my own, drawing on Aragorn's comment in _LOTR_ Book 3 Chapter 2 about the kinship of the Rohirrim and the Beornings.

All other chapter titles in this story are lines or half-lines from poems or songs in _LOTR_. This one is a departure, as it's from _The Hobbit_ (from the Dwarves' song in Chapter I) - but really, what else could I have called it?

Language and name notes:

_Maentâl_ : cunning foot ( _maen_ = clever, skilled; _tâl_ = foot) __

_Mîrwen_ \- jewel-maiden. __

_Tirim an taltloss_ \- We are watching for avalanches ( _Tirim an_ = we watch for: _talt_ = slipping, falling or insecure; _loss_ = snow) __

_Sí girith_ \- here is the pass __

_Tíro thoron dhaer_ \- see the great eagle

_Edlyn_ = princess


	18. In Dwimordene, in Lórien

They drew steadily closer to the shimmering band of gold across their path even as the last rays of the sun touched it with flame; as Maentâl had promised, before full darkness fell they were walking the horses cautiously beneath the outermost boughs of the Golden Wood. All about them in the twilight came a hissing, whispering sound; Rowanna's heart thumped, before she looked up into the vast, vanishing canopy and realised with a start that she heard only leaves moving on the trees. _In full leaf, when spring has barely begun! Is the wood truly enchanted, as the tales in the Riddermark tell?_

Somehow the whispers and rustles seemed to her to speak; normally she would have scoffed at herself for such a fancy, but in the chilly dusk the thought made her shiver. _If Legolas were here, he could tell me what they say! And speak to the trees in his turn, and be accounted a friend..._

If the leaves had indeed been speaking, their conversation bore swift fruit; a moment later, without a sound or any move that Rowanna saw, a figure appeared in front of them with bow drawn. She felt the hairs begin to rise on the back of her neck; slowly, moving as little as she could, she turned her head right and then left, and realised they were surrounded by grey-cloaked Elves who had melted in one silent moment out of the trees. Mîrwen stepped forward, hands outstretched low to show them weaponless, and bowed.

"We come in peace," she said clearly in the Grey Tongue, "from Master Elrond of Imladris, with messages of utmost urgency for the Lord and the Lady..."

The Elf before her took a step forward, head a little to one side; after a long moment, he lowered his bow. He gestured, and all but two of the encircling ring also stood down their weapons; he clasped arms with Mîrwen, and in the gloom Rowanna thought she saw his teeth flash in a brief smile. Then he spoke; but though his voice rang clear and sweet, Rowanna slowly realised she could make out barely a word. Nudging Maentâl in the ribs she whispered, "I thought the Elves of Lórien spoke the Grey Tongue, as you do?"

"They speak it, but not as we do!" Maentâl murmured back. "Our peoples have been sundered long, even by Elvish reckoning, and with time our language has grown apart. Mîrwen knows their fashion of speech well and will make herself understood, for she dwelt here some years with Lady Arwen when this was the Evenstar's home, and she is known here to many." _That might be no bad thing!_ Rowanna reflected as the ring of Elves about them continued watchful. At last their leader gave a nod, and Mîrwen turned back to her companions.

"I am asked to beg my friends' pardon on the Galadhrim's behalf for our somewhat... cautious reception," she said softly, pausing to let Rowanna translate for Dirgon at her side. "It seems that not many days ago the marches of Lórien were assailed by orcish raiders out of the Moria mines, and the northern borders are heavily guarded now against further attack. I have explained our errands; Master Elrond's messengers are to be escorted at once to Caras Galadhon - the city of the Lord and the Lady," she added for Rowanna's benefit, "some five leagues to the south of us. But what shall be done with our Mortal friends is matter for more debate."

"But we mean them no harm!" protested Rowanna. "And we too are in haste - surely they will let us pass? "

"That decision is not the border guards' to make," Mîrwen explained. "They have sent for one of the guard-captains, who will - " She broke off, and Rowanna caught her breath, as two more Elves dropped soundlessly from the canopy and stepped into the circle. _Though why it still startles me I do not know,_ she told herself wryly. _I should be well used to Elves falling from the trees by now!_

__One of the newcomers placed his hand over his heart and bowed to them. "Greetings to our kin of Imladris and to our mortal guests," he began in clear though oddly sing-song Westron. "My name is Haldir, and I captain the patrol on this stretch of the northern border." At this point he switched to his own tongue; Mîrwen nodded, and gestured to Maentâl and the other two Rivendell Elves, who shouldered their packs, clicked to their horses, and turned to follow one of the Galadhrim.

"Fear not!" Mîrwen said quickly as Rowanna looked alarmed. "We are bidden to Caras Galadhon; but you will be well cared for, and Haldir has promised to send word to me how you fare." And with that she melted into the trees as smoothly as any Wood-elf, and was gone.

"Have no fear, indeed," Haldir repeated. "For we are not in the habit of maltreating strangers on our borders, unless they be Orcish; and you, they tell me, came from Imladris and have the favour of Master Elrond, and thus should be doubly safe with us. And yet - " He grimaced. "Yet we are wary of bringing Mortals into our domains, the more so in these darkening times, and make exception but rarely and with the best of cause."

"Please, Master Haldir," Rowanna broke in, unable to contain herself longer, "will you not let us pass - under close guard if you will? If we may not pass along Lórien's borders then to reach Edoras we must either cross Anduin, which we have no hope of with horses and no means in any case to cross back again downstream, or we must go all the way around to the West - into the foothills of the mountains, and take many days we can ill afford!" _And pass too close to Isengard for Elrond's liking into the bargain!_ she added silently, remembering the care with which the Master of Rivendell had explained the intended route to her on the day of the thaw so many weeks ago.

Haldir nodded slowly. "Mîrwen has told us of your journey, and your need for haste. And yet it is not within my gift to let you pass without the Lord of the Galadhrim's word..." For a long moment he paused, while Rowanna bit her lip anxiously. "I have it," he said at last. "I will choose escorts for you from my company - I have one other who speaks a good deal of your tongue - and with them you will set off southwards, keeping course half a league or so within the eastern borders of our land; thus will you stay west of Anduin and veiled from any hostile eyes which might watch from eastward, and yet not come too close to the dwellings of our people in Egladil. At the same time a messenger shall go to Caras Galadhon to bear word to the Lord and Lady, and to beg them leave for you; but if that leave is denied, the border guards will stop you at once and put you on a raft across Anduin, horses or no. Will that content you?"

"It will," Rowanna assured him with a sigh of relief, glancing sideways at Dirgon, who nodded his agreement. "And I thank you for your kindness."

Haldir smiled. "It is well. I shall send to Caras Galadhon at once; I would not advise, though, that you travel the borders by night. As well as the hazard to the horses in the darkness of the wood, the risk of Orc attack is much greater after sunset. My company is encamped a half league east of here; would you care to join us for supper?"

Flanked by Haldir and a handful more border-guards, Rowanna and Dirgon led the horses cautiously through the growing gloom. Edlyn was clearly unhappy, snorting and sidestepping at cracking twigs underfoot and owls hooting overhead; Gelion, however, seemed quite serene, turning his head only when a particularly tempting piece of foliage came into range and munching contentedly on his trophies as he walked. _He senses the... well, Elvishness is a poor word, but it is the only one I can think of!_ Rowanna mused as she trudged at his shoulder. _And I know now why in the Riddermark they are convinced the Golden Wood is haunted!_ For all around her the trees spoke in continual whispers, and from far off haunting harmonies drifted on the air; _if I did not know that to be Elvish song,_ she thought as she felt the goosebumps rise at its unearthly beauty, _I should think it the work of ghostly voices myself! Truly we seem to have strayed into another world..._

They walked on; in her weariness Rowanna felt twilight and harmonies begin to blend with memory and dream, mingling in her mind Elvish song past and present, the Golden Wood and woods yet older; she was back in the Hall of Fire, but watching Lúthien dance for an enchanted Beren beneath the moon in Beleriand, with Legolas' hushed and wondering voice in her ear: _"I did not know!"_

A low whistle broke into her waking dream, and Haldir held up a hand to halt them. In the darkness beneath the trees Rowanna could at first see nothing but the faint glow of a well-banked fire; then for a moment a silvery light flickered, showing her a pair of dark shapes rising from a crouch next to the campfire. One of these held up a small lantern - source of the silver light - by which he, or she, briefly inspected the Mortal guests. Low murmurs were exchanged; then, after another whistle, a light rustling in the tree above heralded the descent of another Elf, who at a nod from Haldir reached for Edlyn's bridle and said something softly to Gelion. The horses followed willingly, Rowanna guessed to be tethered somewhere.

A rich smell of stewing mushrooms was rising from the fire, making her mouth water and her stomach suddenly rumble. As her eyes grew accustomed to the fire's glow, she looked around to find the rest of the camp; seeing no sign of any other Elves or any gear, she was about to ask Haldir where his men were when he laid a hand on her arm and gestured upwards. _In the trees!_ Rowanna realised with sudden alarm. _Still, it makes a certain sense to keep out of sight of any who invade the borders - and what else would I expect of Elves of the Golden Wood?_

The thought of attempting to clamber up her first ever tree in the dark made her heart sink. Fortunately,a rope-ladder was let down with a rattle, and Haldir climbed behind her in case she should slip. Grunts and scraping sounds below told her that Dirgon must be following, and sure enough, shortly after she clambered with a gasp of relief through a large hole into the centre of a wooden platform, he heaved himself through and lay for a moment panting on the boards. "Welcome, mortal friends," said Haldir's voice in the darkness, "to our camp." Another silver glow sprang up as he half-unshuttered a lantern and placed it close to the platform's centre. Slowly Rowanna made out several Elves sitting quietly around her; then Haldir pointed out a cluster of further platforms - "we call them _telain_ , though in your tongue Men call them flets," he told her - among the tree's great branches and in another alongside.

The smell of cooking grew suddenly stronger, and another pale head appeared through the flet's centre, bearing a tightly-lidded stewpot. Wooden bowls and spoons were handed around; Rowanna, feeling ravenous, tried to hold back from wolfing the meal down, but still heard soft laughter as she accepted the offer of a second and, eventually, even a third bowl. "Sleep now," said Haldir firmly after the meal was done. "You may see or hear us come and go during the night, but you will always be guarded, and if there is danger you will hear this call," - he whistled sharply through his teeth three times under his breath - "but louder. And if you hear it, then unless you are bidden to move, stay here and stay silent!"

Rowanna nodded, then frowned. "Where do we sleep?..." Haldir laughed, and motioned to another Elf who stepped lightly away into the branches as though walking on solid ground.

"Eldir will fetch you bedrolls. We can wedge these rush screens - so - " he demonstrated, "against the branches on either side; to screen you from the wind, though there is little tonight, but also so that you shall not roll off the _talan_!"

Eldir returned with a bundle of bedding strapped to his back, and Rowanna soon lay rolled up in a pile of blankets and furs, listening to the rustling of the trees all about her and to Dirgon's snores, and convinced she would get no sleep at all. In fact, she realised the next morning, weariness must soon have overtaken her and the night had clearly been uneventful; for she did not stir till a chorus of birdsong gradually swelled as the first light broke through Lothlórien's mists, and for the first time in many days woke without the uneasy half-memory of bad dreams . She sat up and stretched, and the Elf sitting cross-legged at the corner of the platform pushed back his hood and said something soft and lilting with a smile.

" _Daw maer, hannon le_ ," Rowanna responded; _after all, perhaps he did ask if I spent a good night,_ she thought, _and it seems more courteous to use the Grey Tongue even if he will not understand a word I say in it!_

__Another of the patrol appeared a few moments later bearing water-flasks, a basket of dried berries and fruit and small loaves of a dense bread, which made a pleasant enough breakfast; as they finished eating, Haldir stepped on to the platform from an adjoining branch, followed by an Elf whose dark hair was braided and pulled back from his smooth pale face. "Here I bring Tirnlaeg, of my company," he explained once he had enquired after his guests' comfort. "As I told you last evening, he speaks a good deal of your Common Tongue, and will be your guide along the eastern marches of our land. Unless word comes from the Lord of the Galadhrim that you may not pass, in two days you should reach our southern borders, and beyond them your own land of the horse-lords. Your horses are below, well fed and watered, and as soon as your preparations are made you may depart."

All that day they journeyed southwards; even beneath the trees there was soft grass, making easy going for the horses underfoot. Tirnlaeg led the way, with Rowanna at his side leading Gelion; Edlyn and Dirgon followed, with another Elf of Haldir's company silently and watchfully bringing up the rear. From time to time Rowanna would hear low whistles among the calls of the birds, and feel sure that their passage was tracked, though of the watchers in the trees she saw no sign.

Tirnlaeg was eager to make use of his skill in Westron, especially once Rowanna had tried her Sindarin on him and found her Rivendell accents more confusing than helpful, and as they walked they talked first of her journey and then of the Last Homely House itself. "I have never seen it," Tirnlaeg confessed, "though they say the valley is very fair, and Master Elrond wise and good. But I have seen its brightest star! - you know, perhaps, that Elrond's daughter that they call the Evenstar dwelt here many sun-rounds with the Lady?..."

"I did know," Rowanna agreed. "The Lady Arwen is - well, she was a good and kind friend to me, while I dwelt in Rivendell. She spoke sometimes of Lothlórien; I think she was very happy here..."

"Tell me of Imladris," the Elf begged. "It is said that it is a haven not only for the Firstborn; that Elrond Half-Elven is friend to all Free Peoples, and that Men and even _Naugrim_ \- Dwarves, do you say? - are welcome there! I could not have believed it myself, had I not seen the company that passed - " He broke off suddenly and muttered something in his own tongue. "No, pardon me. That is not to be spoken of - I should not have - " But Rowanna had stopped dead with a gasp, causing a stamp and a snort from Gelion, and had no intention of letting the chance remark pass.

"The Company? - You have seen - Men, a Dwarf - _Frodo's_ Company? They passed through Lothlórien?... Tirnlaeg, please, you must tell me - I knew them in Rivendell and some of them were - my good friends -" Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden memories: Merry and Pippin scoffing cake in Bilbo's rooms; walking up to the Falls with Frodo; Legolas turning and smiling at her across the Hall of Fire...

"They passed through the Wood," Tirnlaeg said reluctantly. "More, I think, I should not tell you." And for the rest of the morning he would say no more, despite Rowanna's entreaties, instead pointing out and naming the different spring flowers just beginning to break through the new grass, or identifying birds for her by their calls.

At the noontide stop, he busied himself laying out food and fetching water from the stream while Rowanna and Dirgon turned the horses loose to graze, and spoke little. As they took to the path again, however, he motioned her to walk beside him. "I ask you to forgive my caution this morning," he began. "The Shadow's threat on our borders makes us wary of all strangers, even when they come in friendship, and I feared to say more than was wise. But I have thought upon it; and knowing that you do indeed come from Imladris, in the company of Master Elrond's folk and of Mîrwen who is known to us, you surely cannot be an agent of the Enemy nor hostile to those who would defeat him. More, you must know already, perhaps better than I, who were this strange fellowship who passed through our lands and what was their purpose. What news then can I give you?"

"Everything! When did they come, were they in good heart, were they all nine well - " She broke off as Tirnlaeg frowned.

"Of course," he said softly, "you do not know... Not nine passed the borders of this land, lady, I fear, but eight only." Rowanna was puzzled. Had Boromir then after all chosen not to stay with the Company but to return to Gondor by the swiftest road? But Tirnlaeg had said _"I fear"_ \- She could not breathe.

"Not - "

"Men, Elf, Dwarf and Halflings passed into this land," Tirnlaeg said heavily, "but no wizard. Mithrandir fell, in the mines of Moria they said, defending them from a great evil of the ancient world that rose from its fiery depths..."

_Gandalf!_ Her head reeled. _What power on this earth -_ For a moment she felt the blood roar in her ears and leaned heavily on Gelion, wondering if she would faint; _I knew they walked into peril, but if Gandalf could fall...What hope have they?_

__"Lady? Are you well?" The Elf's anxious tones came from far away as her dizziness receded.

"I - yes, well enough, Tirnlaeg. Tell me more as we go on..."

Tirnlaeg did his best, as they worked their way steadily southwards through the golden afternoon, to answer Rowanna's stream of questions. He had been on leave in Caras Galadhon the previous moon-round, he explained, not on the border with Haldir's patrol, and like many of the folk of the Golden Wood had been curious to see the strangers. "They were sorely grieved and wearied when they came among us, and their faces showed it; I looked on the Man Aragorn and did not know him, well though I remember his dwelling in our land for a season when the Lady Undómiel was among us. There was grey in his hair and his face was lined, as Mortals are when they have seen much care..." _Or simply as they age!_ thought Rowanna wryly. _If I remember rightly what Bilbo told me, it is near forty years since Aragorn was in Lórien with Arwen. Only an Elf could be surprised at a few grey hairs in two score years!_

From what Tirnlaeg said, though, she gathered that in the rest and peace of the Golden Wood the Company had regained some of their spirits: "The little folk, the Halflings - what do they call that strange stuff of theirs? _Galenas_ that they burn in wooden pipes, and breathe the smoke?" He looked so revolted at the thought that Rowanna could not help but laugh.

"Pipeweed! Well, if they were smoking, they must have been in better heart; you cheer me, Tirnlaeg!"

"Yet even that was not the strangest sight," the Elf said with a smile, stepping lightly around a scattering of the little golden flowers he had told Rowanna were called _elanor_. "In years gone I journeyed north as far as the realms of our kin in the Greenwood - it was on those travels that I learnt your tongue - and I had seen the Stunted People before, travelling the forest road between their caverns. Yet never had I thought to see a Dwarf walk in fast friendship with one of the Firstborn!"

"You mean - Gimli? Gimli and _Legolas_?"

Tirnlaeg laughed in his turn. "To you then, also, it seems strange? But yes, they were much together, and Legolas would not hear a word against the Dwarf. When he came among us to sing in the starlight, after the Mortals were abed, we would challenge him, asking how he could walk and talk so readily with one so squat and so rough of speech, one whose people were our ancient foes; and he would only smile and say that since he began his journey from the Greenwood, he had found himself walking down many paths stranger than he could have imagined. No better answer could we ever get from him, though we asked him often enough!"

Rowanna walked for a while lost in thought, occasionally clicking her tongue absently at Gelion, who was taking advantage of her inattention to lean across the path in search of tempting greenery to chew on. As the sun went down, the chirruping in the trees around them must have held more than roosting birds' calls; for Tirnlaeg called a halt at a little stream before darkness fell, and pointed out a _talan_ half-hidden high overhead in the golden leaves of a great tree.

"We shall go no further today, for we are bidden not to bring strangers any nearer Caras Galadhon than we must," he told them, "and thus must turn and travel closer to the Wood's borders, which is best not done at night. They tell me there are rumours afoot from the City - that a great Eagle alighted at its heart a few days ago bearing a strange burden, and that the Lord and the Lady are labouring over some healing work, which none must disturb. We will camp here tonight; there is water for the beasts, and a sleeping-place for you."

After they had made their supper of bread and berries, and a little cold cooked meat, Dirgon rolled himself up promptly in his blankets and was soon snoring; Rowanna, though, lay awake, gazing up through the canopy at the familiar patterns of the Swordsman and the Netted Stars.

"You do not sleep?" Tirnlaeg's lilting voice came softly out of the darkness.

"I was thinking... of what you told me of the Company. I cannot believe that Gandalf is gone!"

"Nor can the people of the Wood," he said, "for Mithrandir was the Grey Pilgrim, one of the Wise, and few were the powers in Middle-earth we thought could match him..." They kept silence for a while, as the wood breathed around them in the night, and Rowanna stifled a yawn. Somewhere a little way off an owl hooted.

"I, too, have been thinking," Tirnlaeg's murmur came again, "that I should have known you earlier; for unless I mistake, then Legolas of the Greenwood spoke to me of you."

She sat bolt upright, making the boards of the _talan_ creak suddenly in the stillness. "Of me? But what - why - "

"We were talking of mortals, and what he found to befriend in them. He spoke of the Halflings, of their good cheer and stout hearts; and then he talked of a mortal woman of Dúnadan line who had come to Imladris to be healed of an injury, and who used to ride with him - is that another?"

"No... that is me..."

"He said - " Tirnlaeg paused: and then, as he recalled word for word, Rowanna seemed to hear Legolas speak, so close and so warmly that her heart swelled painfully in her chest: __

_"I do not know how to tell you, Tirnlaeg - all I can think to say is that whatever she did, she lived with all her heart... We would ride every day, and every day she would shout with delight at the gallop as though it was something she had never done before nor thought ever to do again; she was greedy for life, she loved to talk and ride - and eat and drink! - and listen to music and tales, always impatient for the next day's dawn, as though there would never be enough time in the world for all she wanted to do. And her laugh! If you heard her laughter... it bubbled up from within her like a spring you could not dam, it was so rich and joyous, it never failed to gladden my heart. I wish I could hear her laugh now..."_

__"He told me," Tirnlaeg concluded, "that since he came to Imladris he had begun to see for the first time why the Gift of Men might indeed be a gift. But I never understood what he meant by that."

He bid her good night, and stepped silently away into the branches to take his turn at watch. Rowanna turned over in her bedroll, and lay listening to the whispering of the trees, wrapped in a warmth of memory more comforting than any Elven furs.

******* ****

**Author's Notes:**

It took me a while to work out the geography for this stage of Rowanna and Dirgon's journey; it's not entirely clear whether Lothlórien's borders extend right down to the Anduin, or whether there is open land between the Wood's eastern borders and Anduin. The text of _LoTR_ ("Farewell to Lórien") makes clear that there is woodland on the far side of Anduin too, but implies that those woods are not considered part of Lórien, for no mallorns grow on the far bank. While the very simplified large-scale maps in the back of _LoTR_ seem to show Lórien as lying a little west of Anduin with a gap between the two, Barbara Strachey's more detailed and text-based maps in _Journeys of Frodo_ show Lórien extending pretty much right up to the Great River. I compromised on deciding that whether or not the Wood itself extended right up to the west bank of Anduin, that land would be considered sufficiently under the eye of the Lórien border-guards to make it impossible or unwise to travel it without the Lord and Lady's leave.

_Daw maer, hannon le_ \- "A good night, thank you". __

_Tirnlaeg_ \- lit. "watcher-greenelf".


	19. Through Moor and Waste we Ride in Haste

"Need to look for somewhere to make camp, soon," Dirgon called to Rowanna as they trotted steadily over the short, dry grass which marked the northern reaches of the Eastemnet. "Light'll be going."

Rowanna nodded, grimacing as she surveyed the empty landscape before them. At this season the great sweep of land to the south of them should have been covered with horses recently brought out to spring pasture, the tents of the herders dotting the plains; yet ever since they left the Field of Celebrant behind them they had ridden through a land deserted, nothing moving but the grass, the only sound the whistling of the north wind at their backs. Rowanna shivered. _What has happened in the Riddermark? Is it become a land of ghosts?_

Tirnlaeg had proved a good guide; no word had come from Caras Galadhon to halt them, and as Haldir had promised, their second day's journey had brought them out of the Golden Wood by mid-afternoon, shortly after crossing the swift-flowing river that Tirnlaeg called Celebrant. "It is fast and cold, but it broadens and becomes shallower just before it flows into Anduin the Great," he told them. The horses waded it, while the Elves, to avoid burdening the beasts with extra riders, crossed easily on ropes thrown across from the far bank for them. A little upriver from the crossing Rowanna noticed a landing-stage with boats drawn up, the afternoon sunlight glinting on their gold and green paint.

"Go carefully," Tirnlaeg had warned them as they mounted up under Lórien's eaves. "The patrols of the southern borders have seen strange smoke and burning in the sky these last days, away towards Angrenost that you call Isengard; they fear something amiss in the land of the horse-lords..."

And so they had emerged from the trees; and then Lothlórien was gone, fading swiftly into a golden blur behind them as they waded the Limlight and crossed into the northern marches of Rohan. Rowanna had felt a quick surge of relief; but that reassurance slowly turned sour as they rode south for a day, then another. The Wold, to be sure, was a largely empty land at the best of times; but from its vantage they should have been able to see the distant movements of the great herds across the plains farther south, and yet the Eastemnet appeared silent and deserted. On that morning, the third day since they passed out of Lórien, had come the only sign of activity, and a sinister one; a great dark column of smoke away to the southwest, as Tirnlaeg had said, but which as far as they could tell had its source between them and Fangorn Forest, and which they had no intention of investigating more closely.

Dirgon reined in Edlyn and pointed. "Those rocks over there, see? Bit of shelter from the wind on the far side of them. Best we'll get tonight."

Rowanna nodded, and they trotted on towards the rocky outcrop lit up by the red rays of the setting sun. A few yards short of it, though, Edlyn stumbled and pulled up sharply. Dirgon clicked gently and tried to move the mare on, but she was clearly favouring her right foreleg. Dirgon muttered beneath his breath and dismounted, dropping his quiver from his shoulder as he did so.

"What is it?" called Rowanna, coming up alongside and leaning down from the saddle. "A stone?"

"Aye, I think so. Stand _still_ , girl - " Dirgon was stooping over Edlyn's hoof, and the mare was huffing and shifting nervously, ears back. "I'm not going to hurt y-"

The last word was choked off in a gasp as, without warning, he keeled forward onto his face. Rowanna stared horrified at the wicked black knife-hilt protruding from his back.

Edlyn, after a moment of frantic dancing to avoid treading on the fallen Dirgon, whirled round and, stone-bruise or no bruise, took off back in the direction they had come. Rowanna, wrestling with the plunging Gelion, was on the point of launching herself from the saddle to get to Dirgon when she saw him struggle to push up on his forearms, raising a face horribly twisted in pain.

" _No_ -" he gulped - "Too late. _Go!_ " He choked, and a splatter of bright blood flew from his mouth; then he collapsed again and lay still.

Gelion snorted desperately and Rowanna, almost too late, caught a flurry of movement in the corner of her eye. _The rocks! You fool -_ Then the pair of orcs, who had broken cover from the rocky outcrop just as the sun slid below the horizon, were on either side of them, slavering and hissing, trying to slash at Gelion's flanks. Gelion reared and struck out with his forefeet, driving them back for the seconds Rowanna needed to pull her knife from her belt; as the orcs closed again she lashed out blindly, heard a howl and felt something hot and stinking splash across her face.

" _Iern_ , Gelion, _**iern**!_ " The cry came out in Rohirric rather than Sindarin, but Gelion needed no command in any case; as Rowanna dug into his flanks and yelled, he took off like the wind. She had just enough presence of mind left to pull him around to the south before she let him have his head across the plain, away from the foul, shrieking terror behind them.

She had no idea, afterwards, how long she had galloped Gelion wildly southwards, and could only thank fortune that he had not caught a foot in a rabbit-hole or stumbled on a stone. It was the wheeling and diving of a bat in front of them that brought her back to herself and made her realise that the light was almost gone. _I'll wind him -_ The ingrained training of a lifetime took over, and she let the horse come down to a canter and, eventually, to a trot. Turning in the saddle she saw no sign of life around them, orc or otherwise. _I should have pulled up earlier and looked for Edlyn - but she always did run herself into the ground after a fright; she'll be halfway back to Lothlórien by now..._

"Wh-what now, boy?" she asked, forcing the words out on a shaky breath. "Can we ride on in the dark? I do not much like the idea of stopping if there are more of those - _things_ \- out there!" Gelion whinnied at the diving bat, his nerves still on edge. Edoras, however, lay many leagues to the south; and in this emptied land she barely recognised, who knew how long they might ride before coming across a settlement or a herders' encampment? They trotted on for a while and she went on scanning the horizon, but could see no fire or light anywhere. "And it's no easy path as we go south, either, lad," she told Gelion, trying to calm herself with her habitual talking aloud to the horse. "For Edoras we need to follow the line of the Entwash until we turn westward where we strike the Snowbourn; but it's marshy going close to the river. I don't want to drown us both or lame you in the dark! I wish I knew just how far west we are..."

She was fighting down rising panic when, gazing south, something about the shape and nearness of the horizon tugged at her memory. "Hills... the Downs! Isn't there a line of downs somewhere towards the north marches of the Eastemnet? If we get up on the hills I might be able to make out a route - perhaps even spot a settlement... Come on, Gelion." She urged him back into a canter. "Let's get up there before it's too dark to see anything at all."

The humped darkness of the hills drew nearer, the only discernable shape in a world turned to empty grey. As they grew closer, Rowanna thought she saw movement against the sky. She frowned, shook her head, looked again. "There _is_ something! Someone standing - oh, please, not more Orcs - " She was about to rein in and think of turning, fleeing again, when something stopped her; a shimmer, a faint radiance against the dark of the hill. Gelion's ears pricked and he nickered gently. She nudged him on; they drew nearer to the figure, there was something familiar about its stance - Then they were galloping again, her heart bursting with relief, as recognition broke in upon her: _Not an Orc. Not a Man. An Elf._

***

Legolas stood motionless at the end of the line of downs, gazing north and west into the twilight. The wind was veering round eastwards, and the ragged clouds were clearing; the night would be cold. Feeling a strange stabbing in his hands, he looked down and realised he had been unwittingly clenching his fists till his nails bit his flesh. _They are escaping us! Every hour we linger they draw further away, and Merry and Pippin..._ His usual ready stillness could not hold; he took a few paces, turned, returned, stared out across the darkening plain again. _Be still,_ he tried to counsel himself. _You have raced to rescue comrades from the darkness before now!_

_Yes, but..._ The thought which had lingered half-formed, unspoken, throughout their three days' chase forced itself to the forefront of his mind; _If we lose our own folk, great though the grief is, we know we may meet again though it be many Ages away. I had never thought to know Mortals so dearly, and it is a different dread! They are in peril of torment and death, and we stand still..._

He glanced back at the humped forms of Aragorn and Gimli, already deep in exhausted sleep where they had fallen. _If we -_ __

_Do not reproach them with what they are,_ he reminded himself. _Have they reproached you? That you looked on the... thing of terror and fire in Moria and could not get off one shot? That while you were knifing orcs below Amon Hen Boromir was slain and the little folk taken?_

Something - movement, the shifting of a shadow in the corner of his eye - made him turn back to the north. _Someone comes! A rider..._

_One galloping as if for his life, a league or so off,_ he saw. For a moment he considered waking Aragorn; but orcs did not ride horseback, so this could only be a Man, one of the Rohirrim. A lone rider - unlikely even to see them in the growing gloom - surely presented little threat.

The horseman slowed, but drew on closer to the Downs. Legolas frowned against the dying light. _Are the Rohirrim not said to be as fair-headed as the Vanyar?_ This rider's hood had fallen back and the hair blowing around the face was -

Then in a moment he knew, and he was running, slithering wildly down the cropped grass of the hillside. As he reached the bottom of the hill, he heard a whinny, and saw the rider urge her mount to a gallop again across the last few score yards. _She sees - yes - she knows!_

Reaching the foot of the down, Rowanna reined in and made to dismount; but she was shaking violently, whether from cold or fear Legolas could not tell, and she half-collapsed out of the saddle so that he had to move swiftly to save her from falling. Clinging to his shoulders she gasped out raggedly:

"Legolas! Oh, Legolas, it _is_ you - thank the heavens, I - "

"Steady, steady, I have you! What - "

"Orcs - orcs attacked us - oh Legolas, Dirgon, I think he's - he's - "

She burst into great, heaving sobs, and his arms tightened reflexively around her. He stroked her back and her hair, murmuring to her: "Hush, hush, all's well. _Avo nallo, mellonen. Dortho dinen, dortho dinen..._ "

He went on crooning softly to her in his own tongue, rocking her, while automatically his eyes scanned the grey wastes behind her. _Is she pursued?..._ But there was no sign of movement that he could make out. _We have time to find out what in Elbereth's name she is doing here, at least!_

Carefully, he put her away from him a little, practised eyes swiftly flickering up and down to examine her for injury. He wrinkled his nose at the stench rising from her garments, and even from her face, where black blood was spattered. "Is that all orc-blood, or is any of it yours?"

She shook her head, still shuddering as her sobs gradually died. "I'm - not - hurt..." He heaved a sigh of relief, and held her tighter.

"Then tell me - slowly! what happened?"

"Gelion - " Rowanna insisted unsteadily - "he's been galloped flat out , Legolas, he needs to cool down-"

"Then we'll walk him, and you can tell me all I need to know as we do it." He took the sweating horse's bridle in one hand, chirruping to him, and kept his other arm firmly around Rowanna's waist lest she collapse as he led the pair of them up the gradual slope. As they neared the crest of the down, Aragorn stirred and murmured something. " _Sîdh_ _, Aragorn_ ," Legolas called softly, and the Ranger turned over without waking; he moved Rowanna and Gelion along the slope a little way, keeping below the crest. No need to disturb the exhausted sleepers, not yet; but Rowanna looked up and drew in a sharp breath.

"Aragorn? And - is that Gimli? But where are the others? The Hobbits? Boromir?"

"Later," he insisted; "we have the night before us. Have you a blanket for - Gelion, you said?" As she rummaged in one of the packs and handed the horse-blanket to him, he added smiling: "I promise to let you deal with the saddle!" and was rewarded with a shaky chuckle that told him both that she caught the jest and remembered, and that she truly had forgiven the past offence.

"For now," he went on once the saddle was off and piled with the packs, and they were walking the horse along the flank of the down, "what happened? And after that, what in the name of all the stars are you doing galloping across the plains of Rohan when I thought you safe in Imladris?" She told him in swift outline, seemingly calmer now with only the occasional sobbed breath: sighting the outcrop, the knife, the orcs erupting suddenly just as the sun set.

"They were downwind of us, of course, so the horses can't have smelt them until we stopped - and then Edlyn knew they were there, that's why she was so nervous, and-and then Dirgon..." She buried her face in Gelion's neck. Helpless, Legolas stroked her hair until the sobs subsided again. "I - I should not have left him! But - but he told me to go, and - I _think_ it was too late..."

"I think, from what you say, he was dead before you left him," Legolas agreed gently, "and it was a swift death." _So at least we must hope,_ he thought grimly. _No need to point out that orcs would not scruple to eat man-flesh, dead or alive!_ Rowanna nodded, and made a short, bitter sound like a half-laugh, puzzling him. "What is it?"

"I just thought... do you remember, once in Rivendell, you told me in all seriousness that I should learn to use a bow, for the darkness might menace even my own land before all was done? Well, I did... all winter I practised with one of Elrond's armsmasters, and by the time we set off I thought I was a passable shot. But when the need was greatest I did not even have my bow strung! A fine warrior I would make!" She clicked to Gelion and they moved on a little further; then she turned to Legolas again as though struck by a new thought. "Will they follow?..."

"Orcs are not great trackers over open grassland, even at night," he reassured her as they walked the horse back around to their starting point, "and if you fled at the pace Gelion was making when I first spied you, they would probably have thought it not worth the pursuit. Only two - you are sure? And you had injured one?"

"I saw no more - and the rocks were not so large, there was little room for more to hide. I think I only caught one with the blade. But Legolas - what were they _doing_ there?"

He ran his hands over the horse's hide, found it cool and dry enough, and gave him a comradely pat on the neck. "There, Gelion, go and take your fill of this good grass; your lady and I have much to speak of." Gelion snorted contentedly, wandered off a few paces and began to graze; Legolas shrugged off his cloak to spread on the dew-damp ground, and motioned to Rowanna to sit beside him, a little way from Aragorn's even breathing and Gimli's occasional snore.

"That," he said heavily as he turned back to her, "brings us to why Aragorn, and Gimli, and I are here. Merry and Pippin are captured by a great troop of orcs and Uruks of the White Hand, and we guess they are taking them to Isengard, to Saruman. Three days we have been in pursuit, since we were attacked at Parth Galen above the Falls of Rauros, and the Halflings taken. We think the orcs were quarrelling among themselves, for we found some of them slain on the first day of our chase; perhaps those you came across had fled - "

She interrupted in an urgent undertone: "Frodo and Samwise? And Boromir?"

"Frodo's journey has passed beyond our sight, but it goes on, as far as we can tell; Frodo and Sam escaped across Anduin into the Emyn Muil. Boromir..." He heard again Aragorn's voice lifted in mourning on the banks of Anduin, and felt the sorrow stab at him once more. "Boromir is dead. He fell below Amon Hen, defending Merry and Pippin."

"Dead..." She whispered it, and for a long moment she was silent. "I am sorry," he heard her murmur at last. "He must have fought bravely...."

"Nor do you yet know all. " _For this too I must tell her, though it grieves me still almost beyond words!_ "Mithrandir - "

"Gandalf fell in Moria. I know."

For a moment he thought he had misheard her low tones. "You _know_? But how - "

"Dirgon and I - " He heard her gulp, but she gathered herself and went on, "we went through Lothlórien, just a few days ago. One of the border guards was appointed our guide along the eastern fences, and he told me that you too had passed through; that Gandalf was slain by - some 'great evil of the ancient world' -"

Shadow and flame rose up before his eyes; he tried to speak, felt his throat tighten, choked on the words. Unseeing, he heard Rowanna shift and turn, then felt the sudden warm pressure of her fingers on his wrists. "Legolas... Legolas? What _was_ it?..."

"A Balrog of Morgoth." At last he got the words out, a hoarse whisper. "A fire-demon, ancient terror of my people. And terror it was, for my bow turned to lead in my hands; I could not shoot. Mithrandir went to the abyss, and we stood and watched, helpless as children!..." He could not go on; he looked away, biting furiously at his lip.

"This... demon," she said quietly, still holding his hands, "bested even Gandalf? Then why so angry at yourself for failing to conquer it?"

He looked back at her, surprised. _She reads me like an open book!_ "How did -"

"I may never have learned in all my time in Rivendell to decipher Elven expressions," she retorted, and in the starlight he thought he saw a smile tug at the corners of her mouth, "but I am not deaf, Legolas, I can _hear_ you reproaching yourself. What did you tell me once in the woods above the Last Homely House?... that you trusted the Powers knew how the song would end, even if you did not understand your part nor were certain that you were fitted to play it?..." She interlocked her fingers with his and held them tightly. "You are no coward."

Her murmured insistence comforted him; he felt her trust spreading like a warmth through his whole body, and smiled ruefully. "You are a better counsellor than I am to myself, _mellonen_ ; my thanks."

The light of the rising moon fell on her face as she sat back on her heels, and showed him the dark stains of the orc-blood dried across her cheeks. "We need to clean that foul stuff from you," he said softly. "The dew should be water enough..."

He dabbed a corner of his cloak in the wet grass until he had it damp, then lifted it to her face; she closed her eyes, heaved one deep contented breath and let him work. "Much better." He nodded, satisfied with his handiwork. "And I should have asked - are you hungry? We travel light, but I have _lembas_..."

"Do you need to ask? I am always hungry!"

As ever her throaty chuckle started laughter up within him; grinning, he reached for his pack and pulled out the leaf-wrapped waybread. "Have half a wafer of that - even you will need no more - and then, you need not think you can escape telling me; how on Middle-earth, when I thought you safe within Master Elrond's bounds, do you come to be risking your skin with Orcs two hundred leagues from Imladris?"

"I have to reach Edoras, and find my mother," she said hoarsely. "I fear she is in some great trouble or need, for I dreamed..." She told him all, and he listened in silence. "Do you think me foolish?" she concluded.

"No such thing," he shook his head. "How it is among most Men I know not, but Elladan told me that your race are foresighted; and my people do not lightly dismiss the visions that come in dreams."

Rowanna snorted. "True enough; like as not it will be my own folk who will think me mad, the more if I reach Edoras and find Mother safe and well!"

"If you find your mother hale," he challenged, "will you care what they say?"

"I cost a man his life today," she said sadly. "What if Dirgon died in vain on my account?" __

_A different dread, indeed..._ He had no answer for her, and could only reach to press her fingers in his turn. "Sleep now," he urged. "The night wears on, and whatever the morn brings, you will have many leagues ahead of you."

She nodded, drowsily, and moved to curl up on his cloak; fatigue must finally have caught up with her, for almost at once her breathing told him she had slipped into sleep. Looking up at the hard black sky a thought struck him, and he moved quietly up the hill to find Aragorn's pack and pull from it the Ranger's single light woollen blanket. He covered Rowanna carefully with it and sat back, gazing once more out over the plain. _She would have me act as best I may and then go on, without regretting the choice..._

__Restless, he got up and paced a little way along the crest of the down. _Aragorn has berated himself ever since Amon Hen for decisions gone amiss; but if I had not let the Gollum-creature escape in the first place, would anything have fallen out as it now has? Would Boromir yet live, and Merry and Pippin walk free?..._ __

_The Song holds more themes than you can know_ , he reminded himself. _One thing is certain; without Gollum's loss you would not have come with the Company, would never even have gone to Imladris. You would not have walked among Mortals - do you regret that?..._ Turning, he looked around at the hunched forms of the Ranger and the Dwarf before at last his gaze rested on the sleeping Rowanna, her dark hair tumbling across her cheek, and he smiled. _Never_.

He turned his face to the sky again, and began to sing softly to the stars.

*******

**Author's Notes:**

The uncharacteristic silence and emptiness of the Eastemnet at this point are noted by Aragorn as odd in _TTT_ Book 3 Chapter 2, _The Riders of Rohan._

_Iern_ \- run (Anglo-Saxon)

_Avo nallo_ \- "Do not cry" __

_Dortho dinen_ \- lit. "Stay silent," (as far as I can find there's no attested way in Sindarin of saying "hush"!) __

_Sîdh_ \- "Peace" (there doesn't appear to be an attested translation for "Sleep" either)


	20. Appendix - dates etc (Spoilers!!)

(Would have loved to call this Appendix B; but that would have implied to Altariel that she had some chance of getting Rowanna's genealogy as Appendix A...)

Purely for those who like to map crucial dates/timespans against what is happening in canon; if you don't care or have already worked it out for yourself, skip all this!

Events in this fic are in **bold** , canon events in _italics_ (with canon dates taken from LoTR Appendix B). And if you find any glaring errors (ouch), go on, point 'em out...

Feasible horseback travel times have been worked out through a mixture of discussion on H-A Yahoo and the HASA forums, and from the invaluable Middle-Earth Travel Times charts put together by ErinRua, Sulriel and Blue Iris at http://www.theoriginalseries.com/traveltimes.htm - tweaked, plausibly I hope, here and there to fit the plot! Points where exact numbers of days are left hazy are my deliberate defence against potential accusations of PJ-style Magic!Distance...

2998: **Rowanna is born in Rohan.**

2992: **Her father, Halemnar, is killed on an expedition with Éomund, chief Marshal of the Mark.**

3002: _Éomund is killed in an orc-raid. Not long after, his wife Théodwyn dies, at which point King Théoden takes Éomer and Éowyn into his household._

June 3018: **Rowanna is brought to Rivendell.**

9th October: _**Glorfindel leaves Rivendell.**_

18th October: _ **Gandalf reaches Rivendell.**_

20th October: _ **Barring of the Ford of the Bruinen.**_ **Arrival of Aragorn and the Hobbits in Rivendell.**

24th October: **Legolas arrives in Rivendell.**

25th October: _Council of Elrond. **Legolas and Rowanna are introduced by Bilbo after the post-Council feast.**  
_

_December 25th 3018: Fellowship set out from Rivendell._

**Mid-January 3019: Rowanna begins to have bad dreams.**

_January 25th: Gandalf "casts down the Balrog, and passes away."_

**End of January: the unseasonably early thaw in the northern Misty Mountains.**

********Early February: Rowanna, Dirgon and their Elvish escort set out from Rivendell.** ** ** **

_February 14th: Gandalf returns to life, and lies in a trance._ ****

_February 16th: the Fellowship leave Lórien._

February 17th: _Gwaihir bears Gandalf to Lórien._ **Rowanna's party see him high up and far ahead as they ride south through Rhovanion.**

**February 24th: Rowanna's party reach the northern borders of Lothlórien.**

February 26th: _Breaking of the Fellowship. The Three Hunters set out in the evening in pursuit of the Orcs who have taken Merry and Pippin . Eomer sets out from the Eastfold about midnight in pursuit of the Orcs._ **Rowanna and Dirgon leave Lothlórien in mid-afternoon.**

February 29th: _Eomer's eored attack the Orcs at dawn on the edge of Fangorn; they pile the corpses and burn them._ **Rowanna and Dirgon are attacked by two Orcs at sunset.** _Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn stop at sunset at the northernmost end of the Downs between the Eastemnet and the Wold._ **Rowanna riding southwards meets Legolas at the northern edge of the Downs at nightfall.**

February 30th: _Eomer returning to Edoras meets Aragorn._ **Rowanna continues back to Edoras with Eomer's eored.**

March 1st: **Eomer and the eored, with Rowanna, arrive back in Edoras** (date my speculation, since all we know is that they do so some time between February 30th, and March 2nd when Gandalf and the Three Hunters get there). **Rowanna meets Edyth outside her mother's house, and is taken back to Silver Street: _Eomer is arrested_** (whether this day or the next is open to interpretation in canon, so my speculation): **Edyth goes to Eowyn for help.**

March 2nd: **Rowanna meets Eowyn in the bakehouse at dawn:** _Gandalf and the Three Hunters see Edoras at dawn still some leagues off. They arrive in the City some time in the later morning, and eat with Theoden before **the muster is summoned:**_ **Rowanna hears the news of their arrival, meets Legolas above the Gate, and departs for Gondor herself as _the Eorlingas ride West._**

March 3rd-4th: _Battle for Helm's Deep overnight._

March 5th: _**the Nazgul passes over the Fellowship's camp at Dol Baran, and Pippin and Gandalf set out for Minas Tirith.**_

March 8th: **Rowanna arrives at the Rammas in the morning. She and Bergil find Miranna late in the afternoon.** _Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli walk the Paths of the Dead, and reach the Stone of Erech at midnight._

March 9th: _Gandalf and Pippin arrive at the Rammas at dawn. Pippin is taken into Denethor's service. **The reinforcements from the Southlands arrive at the City in late afternoon,** watched by Pippin and Bergil. **Darkness begins to flow out of Mordor.**_

March 10th: **_The Dawnless Day._ Miranna grows weaker and more ill, and is taken to the Houses by Rowanna and Bergil. _The Nazgul attack Faramir's Company on the Pelennor and are driven off by Gandalf._**

March 13th: _**Wounded are brought in from the Causeway Forts.** Pippin and Rowanna witness **the sortie by the Swan Knights to rescue the remnant of Faramir's company**_. _Aragorn reaches Pelargir and captures the fleet._

March 14th: _**Minas Tirith is besieged.**_

March 15th: _**The Witch-King breaks the Gate.**_ **Miranna comes close to death. _The Rohirrim arrive at cockcrow. Battle of the Pelennor:_** _Denethor burns himself on the pyre; Gandalf and Pippin rescue Faramir. **Faramir is brought to the Houses of Healing in the early morning.** Theoden is killed; Eowyn and Merry slay the Witch-King and are wounded, **and brought to the Houses.** Aragorn and the black fleet reach the Harlond in mid-morning and turn the battle. _**Rowanna labours in the Houses of Healing to help the wounded. _Aragorn and the Sons of Elrond come to the Houses of Healing after nightfall._**

March 16th: _The Last Debate. **Legolas and Gimli enter the City and are reunited with Merry and Pippin.**_

March 18th: _**The Captains of the West march on Mordor.**_

March 20th: _Faramir and Merry,_ **with Rowanna** _, discuss Eowyn and her part in the Ride of the Rohirrim and the battle for the Pelennor_.

March 21st: **Faramir calls on Miranna.**

March 22nd: **Rowanna visits Eowyn.**

March 25th: _**Parley and battle before the Black Gate.** The Ring is destroyed. Downfall of Barad-dur and Sauron._

Mid-April: _Merry rides out to the Field of Cormallen,_ **accompanied by Rowanna**.

May 1st: _**Crowning of the King Elessar before the gates of the City.**_

May 8th: _**The Rohirrim, Eomer, Eowyn, the Sons of Elrond**_ **and Rowanna _depart for Rohan._**

May 20th: _Elrond and Arwen come to Lorien._

May 27th: _The escort of Arwen leaves Lorien._

June 14th: _**The sons of Elrond**_ **and Rowanna _meet the escort and bring Arwen to Edoras._**

June 16th: _**They set out for Gondor.**_

1 Lithe: _**Arwen comes to the City.**_ **Elrohir confronts Legolas.  
**

Mid-year's Day: _**Wedding of Elessar and Arwen.**_

July 2nd (day following Mid-year's Day): **Rowanna leaves for Dol Amroth at dawn.**

July 19th: _Funeral escort of King Theoden (including the Fellowship) sets out for Rohan._

August 22nd: _Legolas and Gimli part from the rest of the Fellowship and set out first for Fangorn, then for Mirkwood and Erebor._

December: **Rowanna and her mother are in Minas Tirith for mettarë.**

3020:

Stirring/Spring 3020: **Legolas struggles with the Sea-longing in Mirkwood.**

31st May: **Faramir writes to Rowanna.**

Late June: **Rowanna comes to Ithilien.**

Fourth Age 120:

March 1st: ** _Death of Aragorn._**

March: **Death of Rowanna.**

Spring? **_Legolas and Gimli take ship for the West._  
**


	21. Through Rohan over Fen and Field

Voices woke Rowanna, low but urgent: she struggled out of the folds of the scratchy blanket which smelt faintly of mud and of male sweat, stretching stiffened limbs and scrubbing a fist across her sleep-gummed eyes.

"...can hardly leave her to cross the rest of this Orc-infested wasteland on her own!" she caught a protesting rumble. _That's Gimli,_ she realised; but before she could call a greeting to tell the three she was awake, Legolas had jumped up and in a few swift paces was at her side.

"Awake, _rohíril_?" he enquired, and the familiar nickname was as companionable on his lips as it had always seemed teasing from Elrohir's. "Have you rested?"

"I..." Memory stirred: dark dreams from which black shrieking terrors had sprung - and then melted away as a voice bringing starlight and song had woven itself steadily into her sleep, over and over. "Yes, a little."

"I am glad; then come and join us." He held out a hand and led her up the slope to join Aragorn and Gimli; down on the eastern slope of the hill she saw Gelion, still happily cropping the grass.

"Good morrow to you, my lady!" Aragorn spared her an all-too-brief smile from a face creased with weary anxiety. "I am glad to see you safe and well, though I fear we cannot do as much to maintain that safety as we three would like.  Legolas tells me you know of our chase, so I will waste no time recounting it." He paused and rubbed a hand tiredly over his eyes. "Your care could be said, as your Chieftain, to fall to my charge; yet so does the quest to rescue Merry and Pippin, who were no less under my protection. Gimli protests at the idea of letting you continue towards Edoras alone, but -"

"None of you can be spared!" Rowanna protested. "Now that it is light I know my way onwards readily enough; Merry and Pippin's danger is far the greater -"

She broke off. Aragorn was holding up a hand for silence, frowning: then in an instant he had stretched full length on the ground and lay as though listening to the very earth, while the wind whined through the grass.

After a moment he hissed, "Legolas! Look north and west towards the forest and tell me; what is that shadow that moves over the ground?" Legolas moved at once to stand beside him, long fingers shading his eyes against the early-morning light.

"Horsemen, some five leagues distant," he said softly, "many horsemen, and the sun shines like the light of a hundred stars upon their spear-tips..."

_An éored!_ Rowanna's heart leapt at the thought. _Whose would it be, so far out here to the North?_

"Their leader is very tall," the Elf added, and Rowanna could have laughed aloud. _I know who that must be - surely!_

"The Eorlingas come - then all will be well!" she exclaimed, looking beaming round the three companions - until she met Aragorn's eyes, and was stilled.

"That," he said grimly, "remains to be seen. My heart tells me that all is not well in the land of Rohan of late; who knows whether old alliances will yet hold? But evil news or good, we will await it here."

He led them slowly down the northward slope the way the horsemen must approach, and they settled themselves at its foot; Gimli lowered himself with a grunt to sit alongside Aragorn and the two began to talk quietly, leaving Legolas and Rowanna to gaze together north-westwards. Elf, Man and Dwarf drew their grey cloaks close about them, and Rowanna was startled to notice that when she turned away a little, striving to make out the _éored_ as it approached, the three seemed to melt away out of the corner of her eye into invisibility.

"You - I thought for an instant you had all vanished!" she whispered to Legolas.

"You see the power of cloaks woven by the people of the Lady Galadriel," he murmured into her ear, "made to guard the wearers from unfriendly eyes; thus far they have served us well, and long may they do so!"

They waited; and although Rowanna's own warm cloak should have been proof against the wind which keened endlessly around and over them, she found herself shivering. _'All is not well in the land of Rohan'... and the Eastemnet is emptied, and seemingly overrun with foul things born of Shadow. What if Aragorn speaks truth? What has happened to land and kin while I have been gone?..._

"...rumour that they pay tribute to Mordor," she heard Gimli grumble, and was about to protest when Aragorn broke in:

"I believe it no more than did Boromir."

"You will soon learn the truth," said Legolas over his shoulder. "Already they approach." Softly he added, "Rowanna, get out of sight behind me, and do not stir," and quietly though he spoke, something in his tone made her move into place without question.

For all her anxiety, as she felt the thunder of hooves through the ground and watched the horsemen come riding like the wind Rowanna could not check a great upswell of joy, which rose until she wanted to jump for excitement like a child. Never would she tire of the sight of an _éored_ at full gallop! Manes and tails and braided hair flew, the sun glinted on sword and helms and mail; two by two the Riders sailed past, as she forced herself against every instinct to stay still, and yet Aragorn made no move to hail them. Only as the rearguard were passing them by did he get to his feet and cry: "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"

In an instant, the last of the Riders checked and turned: Rowanna recognised what would come now, for she had seen the spiral formation time after time in practice and display over the years, and she knew better than to move a muscle as the _éored_ wheeled tighter and tighter about them, barely inches between one horse's heels and the next's nose. As the halt came and the forest of spears sprang towards them, she struggled with an uncanny notion that this must be all for show as it had always been before; and as the Riders' commander dismounted and strode towards Aragorn with weapon raised, his helmet's white crest stirring in the wind, the feeling that she must be dreaming almost overwhelmed her. As Gimli and Legolas shifted a little to either side of her as though to shield her from this apparent hostility, she had to fight down a wild impulse to laugh aloud. _These are my own people! This is all wrong!_

Yet wrong, it seemed at first, it was: for the parley sounded to be going ill. Hearing the distrust in Éomer's voice as he named the Lady and the Golden Wood, all the unease of months past rose up again to choke her. _They do not understand! I must tell them-_

But the breath she took caught in her throat: for Gimli was on his feet, his harsh voice passionate in Galadriel's defence - Legolas had an arrow on the string - Éomer's sword was out - Aragorn leapt forward, and Rowanna heaved a long sigh of relief. _Let the Chieftain deal!_ And deal he did: for as the argument went on and men and horses shifted impatiently, suddenly a great sword flamed in the sunlight; and Aragorn stood Chieftain and more than Chieftain, claiming titles Rowanna remembered only dimly from childhood tales at her mother's knee. Tales Éomer, it seemed, recalled as well as she, for in an instant his anger was gone and his challenge spent.

"Dreams and legends spring to life out of the grass," he said wonderingly. "And it seems to me you must be dreams yourselves: for we saw no sign of you as we rode by you, keenly though my Riders watched. More: when first we spied you I thought you were three, Man, Elf and Dwarf, and now I see a fourth - what then is he?"

The sheer strangeness of it all, and the unexpected ending of the moment's sharp fear, burst from Rowanna in a sudden snort of laughter. Nudging her way between Legolas and Gimli and throwing back her hood, she smiled up into the Third Marshal's familiar - and astonished - features. "Do you not know me, then, my lord? _Westu Éomer hal!_ " She ducked her head in the quick half-bow which was all Éomer had ever expected by way of acknowledgement from his folk.

_"Rowanna? Rowanna, Mirannas dohtor?_ " The Marshal shook his head as though doubting himself awake. " _Hwi earthu her?_ "

"That, my lord Éomer, is a long tale," she replied, reverting to the Common tongue for Gimli and Legolas' sake, "and you shall have it at leisure if you will let me ride with you southwards. For now, I think you and my lord Aragorn have weightier and more urgent matters to discuss, and I will not trespass on them!"

With that Éomer set the Riders to make ready to ride south again, while he and Aragorn debated on. At last, it seemed, agreement was reached: "You may go," the Marshal declared, "and what is more, I will lend you horses. This only I ask: when your quest is achieved, or is proved vain, return with the horses over the Entwade to Meduseld. For there I return to my King's judgement, and there also will we gladly bear the Lady Rowanna in safety. Do not fail me."

"I will not," said Aragorn, and Rowanna thought she saw his shoulders drop as though relief swept through him. As the Riders began to mount up, she whistled for Gelion, who nickered in response and came trotting around from the far slope of the downs; then she turned hastily to find Legolas.

"Fear not for me! These are my people, and will see me safe to Edoras. Now I shall reach Mother before long, and you will rescue Merry and Pippin - "

"Elbereth grant it," said Legolas softly. "And perhaps, _mellonen_ , you and I shall meet in your city - " He held her gaze a moment gravely, before a smile broke across his fair face. "If, that is, you can avoid getting into any further scrapes across the rest of Rohan!"

"My lord Éomer will make sure of that!" Rowanna laughed in her turn; but the thought of all that might yet darken the Riddermark, and of what the three companions faced, chilled her heart a moment later. "Legolas - go safely, be well..."

He nodded, then turned away as one of the Riders brought him a mount; a fine-boned grey who pranced and sidestepped continually until Legolas, putting off saddle and bridle, vaulted on to his back and stilled him with a word. Murmurs of disbelief rose from the Rohirrim; and the thought of all that the mistrusted Elves might teach the Eorlingas, given but the chance, kept Rowanna smiling until she and the _éored_ were mounted and on their way, and the Three Hunters were only a vanishing shadow in the distance behind them.

***

All that day and half the night the _éored_ rode hard; they stopped only to rest and water the horses, until they reached the edges of the Entwade where the ground grew too marshy and treacherous to navigate safely in the darkness, and they must needs halt for what remained of the night. At each stop, between checking hooves and dealing with gear and snatching mouthfuls of food and water herself, Rowanna gathered what news she could. But there were none in this _éored_ she knew well, though many knew of her as Master Aelstan's apprentice by name or reputation, and to her puzzlement she found the normally open Eorlingas wary and close-mouthed. Bare facts she could come by - invasion of the Westfold from Isengard; the Second Marshal and his _éored_ ridden out to give battle - but any attempt to measure how matters stood in Edoras, how life went on in the Mark, met with evasions and asides. "There's things best not spoken of, even here. You'll see soon enough, mistress."

And nor, though some of this _éored_ she gathered were Edoras men, could or would anyone tell her anything of her mother. The caution was catching: when someone questioned how she had come to be keeping such strange company on the Downs, she said only that she had been away visiting her mother's kin in the North since last summer, and that she and Dirgon - whose name was known to some - had been attacked by Orcs, and Dirgon killed. When they at last stopped for the night, she lay shivering in her blanket, drowsed uneasily and woke often shaking, and greeted the first grey light of dawn with a sickened longing to get moving: _the sooner we get there the sooner I shall know the worst, whatever it may be!_

The sun rose and warmed chilled bones; despite all the anxieties of the past day and night, Rowanna felt her spirits lift as with much splashing the company forded the Snowbourn. The first and only city of the Riddermark stood proud on its high hill before them, rose-gold morning light glinting on the rooftiles of Meduseld for all to see for miles, and she did not need to look around her to know that the heart of every Eorling around her would be bursting with pride at the sight. _I have got back to Edoras, and surely now all will be well!_

The ground slowly rose to meet the citadel, and the _éored_ naturally shifted formation as it passed by the Mounds of the Kings and began to climb the winding path, dropping into lines three abreast which would pass easily through the great pillared gates, with Éomer and Éothain at the head. Only as they reached the gate, and a pair of sentries stepped forward with spears lifted to salute the Third Marshal, did Rowanna feel stirrings of unease prickling at the back of her neck. _Why do they look so shamefaced? Almost..._ guilty _?_

"Hail, Éomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark!" the gatewards chanted in rather flat unison, as though by rote. _They can barely look at him! What in the Mark is going on here?_

"Hail, friends, and well met." Éomer's robust salutation carried clearly back to his _éored_ waiting behind him; but - was there, Rowanna wondered, an edge to it? Faint shufflings and mutterings began among the troop. Unnerved, a horse snorted and tossed his head, and was swiftly stilled. For a moment, there was no sound but the whipping of the wind in the great green standard above their heads; then another voice was raised as a slight figure wearing the sash of a King's herald stepped out from beside the sentries.

" _Westu Éomer hal._ " The messenger dipped his head briefly in respect. "My lord..." He paused for a heartbeat. "You are bidden to attend without delay upon the King your uncle... by request of Grima Wormtongue." 

_Wormtongue._ Rowanna felt a chill run down her spine. _I had all but forgotten the Worm!_ She cudgelled her brain for memories of how Grima had stood in Edoras before she had left the Mark. _Is he now climbed so high, that Éomer himself must dance attendance at his request?_ The muttering grew louder. Behind her, someone audibly spat.

Éomer's voice, when he spoke, was slightly hoarse, but unshakeable as the rock upon which the Citadel stood. "I attend _gladly_ upon the _King's_ pleasure." He spoke low into Éothain's ear. Then he turned right around in the saddle, so that all the _éored_ might see him, and let his next words ring out for all around the gate to hear. "My friends, we have all done good work since we rode out from Edoras, and I thank you for it. Doubt not that Théoden King shall hear of your loyal service!" He nudged his great stallion, Firefoot, forward. Gatewards and messenger fell back before him; and the Third Marshal of the Mark rode, alone, up through the city to the feet of the Golden Hall.

***

As they passed through the great gate, Rowanna nudged Gelion to the left, heading as she always did for the communal stabling provided within the wall for those who, not living in the city, had no permanent stalls of their own: the Rider alongside her, however, reached to tap her arm. "Heading for the East-wall, mistress?"

"Yes, I -"

"Barely room to turn a foal round in there there days, with so many come in from the Eastemnet," he shook his head. "Biting and kicking and all sorts - and that's just the men!" He grinned wryly. "You'd best stick with us - they haven't requisitioned our stalls yet, Béma be thanked!"

Seeing the sense of his advice, Rowanna thanked him and turned Gelion the other way, passing with the rest of the Riders along the inner side of the western wall to the stables reserved by custom for the horses of the _éoreds_. She soon began to wonder if they would make it without treading on a child or a chicken; Edoras always bustled, but not even at the Summer Fair had she seen the city more crowded than the lower streets, away from the winding ceremonial way up to Meduseld, now were. Nor, it seemed, was she the only one to feel the overcrowding; she caught frequent curses from the jostling throngs, saw ill-tempered shoving, even a punch thrown.

Finally, though, all reached the Riders' stables with sighs of relief; and whatever the Riddermark's troubles might be, someone had ensured the supplies of grain and water and clean straw continued. Here at least there was plenty of room: looking round the empty stalls Rowanna bit her lip, remembering the snatched conversations of the day before. As she began unsaddling Gelion one of the _éored_ , who had stopped to talk to a stable-lad in the yard, loomed in the doorway. He tried to speak; choked on the words; tried again, and with sudden dread Rowanna realised there were tears in his eyes.

"He..."  The Eorling swallowed hard. "He's dead."

Every Rider turned to look at him, horror-struck.

"My lord Théodred. Slain at the Fords. There was a great battle; orcs and Dunlendings and warg-riders - they were overrun..." He slammed his fist into the doorpost.

" _Damn_ him!  Damn Saruman - and damn the Worm!"

"Hush, now, lad."  One of the older Riders moved to put an arm about his shoulder. "'Tis dire indeed, but you guard your tongue - even here..."

The men moved around the stable in sullen quiet, now, doing what was needful, exchanging looks or occasional murmurs. Anxious though Rowanna was to get up into the city, she brushed every inch of Gelion's chestnut coat till he gleamed - _you deserve it, my friend!_ \- earning some curious glances by murmuring to him in the Grey Tongue as she worked. Gelion looked about him with interest, sniffing all around his stall and nickering softly to the animals on either side of him.

"Placid beast," a Rider said softly as he passed behind Rowanna with his arms full of tack. "I thought he'd be more nervy, from the look of him..."

"That's the way the El- the folk up North breed them," Rowanna assured him; "their manners are as fine as their looks!" _That was close_ , she told herself; _be careful..._

At last she was done. As she checked Gelion's stall one more time and stowed his brushes, she realised part of her would gladly put off stepping out of the stables and making the short steep climb up to the Weaversgate; for a dull cold feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that she would not like what she found there. For a moment she buried her face in Gelion's neck; then as he snorted softly and reached round to nibble hopefully at her pocket, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. _Best to know what you face,_ her mother's voice came in her head. _The fear's always twice the thing itself..._

The hubbub of the city's lower end gradually subsided as Rowanna made her way upwards; closer to Meduseld the thatched houses were a little larger and better spaced, the streets somewhat wider than the twisting alleys below, and she could move more quickly as the crowds thinned to a few passers-by with their heads determinedly down. By the time she turned into the end of the Weaversgate, her mother's street, it was so quiet that as she paused she heard her own blood thumping in her ears.

Her boots seemed to ring far too loudly on the cobbles as she made her way up the street; as she crossed the last few yards she thought, out of the corner of her eye, the end of a cloak or a skirt whisked out of sight across the way. The chill tide of disquiet which had ebbed and flowed ever since her dreaming had begun in Rivendell rose up, as she approached the house, in such a wave that for a moment she thought she would choke; and the cobwebs spun right across the drawn shutters, the unswept dirt and mouse-droppings all around the threshold, only told her what she suddenly, sickeningly realised she had already known. Planks were nailed across the small front door to seal it; the house was deserted. Her mother was gone.

*******

**Author's Notes:**

As will be readily apparent, the first part of this chapter is essentially a rewrite from Rowanna's POV of the events of part of the "Riders of Rohan" chapter of _TTT_. Some of the dialogue in that section has therefore been lifted bodily straight from that chapter, embroidered where necessary.

" _Rowanna? Rowanna, Mírannas dohtor?...Hwi earthu her?"_ \- I hope means something like: "Rowanna? Rowanna, Míranna's daughter? What are you doing here?" - literally, "why are you here?" as "What are you doing here?" seems too modern an idiom for Anglo-Saxon, but that's what I'm getting at. Any A-S scholars reading this are more than welcome to correct my doubtless horrendous spelling/grammar...

I have assumed Éomer and his éored get back to Edoras on the morning of March 1st, the day after they meet the Three Hunters and the day before Gandalf and the Three arrive.


	22. Still Round the Corner We May Meet

She stood shocked into stillness - _I knew it, I_ knew _it -_  
  
"Hssst!"   
  
Rowanna gasped and whirled, shaking; for a moment as she turned from the dark of the doorway back to the bright street she was blinded, and then the whisper came again and she placed it, in the alleyway which branched off opposite.   
  
"Mistress Rowanna! Over here, quickly!"   
  
She could barely make out the figure in the shadows; but the urgency of the tone convinced her, and before caution had time to check her steps she was across the street. A hand reached out to draw her swiftly under the overhanging eaves and a little deeper into the alley.   
  
"Who is that? I can't - "   
  
"Don't you know me, mistress?" A solid, square hand went up to put back a hood; and then face and voice and gesture put themselves together, and she recognised Edyth, who had kept house for her mother ever since Míranna had first brought her bewildered little girl to Edoras.   
  
"Edyth! Oh, Edyth, what's happened? Where's Mother?..."   
  
"Quickly now," the older woman responded in a hurried whisper, taking Rowanna by the arm and marching her down the alley and left into another street, "you shall hear all, my dear, but not here - you never do know who's listening, these days, and best we not be seen hanging about before your dear mother's door, the gods bless and keep her. That's right, down this way - " as they worked their way back down the hill and once more into the more crowded lower streets - "I've been with my son since the house was shut up, over in Silver Street, it's smaller than you're used to and even more crowded now that his wife's sister and her children are in from the Eastemnet, but at least it's upwind of the tanners' alley most days and no-one will question another face coming and going when everyone down here has so many extra mouths to feed just now..."   
  
"But what's happened to Mother? Is she sick? Where is she?..."   
  
"All in good time, mistress, we'll be there in two shakes of a colt's tail - see, here we are, under the sign of the silver fish - "   
  
Indeed, a beautifully carved sign in the shape of a leaping salmon, painted with silver, marked the house out. It was smaller than Rowanna's mother's, its thatched eaves lower so that Rowanna had to stoop to follow Edyth as the older woman pushed the door ajar and called " 'Tis only me," before ducking inside. Rowanna blinked, eyes smarting from the hearthsmoke which was gusted across the room by the door's draught. Slowly she made out the figures of two children sitting on stools close to the fireplace, and realised from the scuffling and whispers that several more had dived into hiding as the door opened.   
  
"This is the lady I told you of, Meghan," Edyth said firmly. "Have you got the stew on for supper, there, as I asked you? That's my good girl - and your mother's still out at the market?" The little one nodded, eyes round as she stared at the stranger.   
  
"Good day, Meghan," Rowanna offered, but this merely caused the child to blush and look hastily away as her sister dug her in the ribs.   
  
"Come through, mistress," Edyth urged, "through here to the workshop, my son's out about a bit of business of his own and we can talk there, and it's lighter too for that's the room with the window, he made sure of that when he took the house for he needs good light for his work -" Bustling across the room moving stools and children out of the way, past the row of pans hanging up by the hearth which gleamed in the firelight, Edyth ushered Rowanna over another threshold. "Wulf, have you fed the hens yet?" she called back over her shoulder. "Well, get you out into the yard and do it at once, you idle lad, and get Drefan to help you instead of fooling about and getting under your sisters' feet - " and she shut the door firmly behind her.   
  
"That should keep them out of mischief, instead of larking around trying to listen at the door because they're convinced their grandam's up to some mystery they want to be poking their fingers into," she announced. "Sit down, Mistress Rowanna, I pray you, and here - Teon always has a pitcher of water fresh for the dust does get into his throat so, let me pour you a beaker - "   
  
Sitting down heavily herself on the other end of the bench with a gusty sigh, she poured out water for each of them and set the pitcher down on her son's worktable with a thud. Rowanna, who felt as though she had barely drawn breath in the last half hour, took a few grateful gulps of water and, as Edyth lifted her own beaker, seized her chance.   
  
"Edyth, please, just tell me - what has happened? Where's Mother? Is she all right?"   
  
"Well, now, my dear, you mustn't fret, we've no reason not to think your lady mother's well enough, for all that what happened was dreadful - I never thought I should have cause to be ashamed of the Eorlingas but the way she was treated - "   
  
"Ill-treated?" Rowanna looked up sharply. "Who by?"   
  
"Oh, it was all just silly rumour at first, nothing to get worked up about, and of course your mother laughed it off; back before the year's turning it started, really. A few murmurings about strangers in the city; hard to say where these things come from, but folk began talking about dark times, and needing to look to ourselves. There was a trading party from somewhere down South turned away from the gates with a flea in their ears, and not long after that a family over in Wheelwrights' Street, though they'd been in Edoras for years it was always said they had a Dunlendish look to them - their door was smashed in one night, and the next day they were packed up and gone..."   
  
"But - Mother chose Rohan, over her own land!" Rowanna felt the blood flare in her cheeks. "How could anyone think she would not be loyal? And Gondor is Rohan's ally, besides! -"   
  
"You needn't tell me, child - did I say there was any sense to any of it?" Edyth took a deep draught of water and replaced her beaker with an indignant thump. "It wasn't so much being born of Gondor that folk took a misliking to; but there were sly tongues about - I swear that merchant's wife Hild who paid your mother so late once for a gown had something to do with it - who remembered her Northern blood, and there was wild talk about sorcery and -"   
  
She stopped short, hand to her mouth.   
  
"And it was rumoured that her daughter had vanished in the middle of the night and gone to the Elves?" Rowanna's mouth was a hard line. _My fault. This - whatever it is - all happened because Mother tried to save me..._  
  
"She pretended to take no heed at first, of course," Edyth went on stoutly, "you know your mother - she'd rather die, bless her, than let anyone know nonsense like that was working its way under her skin. But I'd swear she wasn't sleeping: she started looking pale, and worn out as I hadn't seen her since all those nights she sat up with you last summer. And then - oh, mistress, I'm ashamed to say it, I feel to blame -"   
  
"Edyth, _please!_ I promise I'll not blame you - what?"   
  
"There were stones thrown at the house," said Edyth with a heavy sigh. "Just lads horsing around, we thought, and paid no heed - till one night I opened the door to empty a slop-pail, and one caught me on the head..."   
  
"They _hit_ you?" Rowanna's rising incredulity caught in her throat and choked her off. "Oh, Edyth, they could have killed you! How could anyone - "   
  
"Well, that was the end, I fear, child," the older woman concluded sadly. "Rumour and silliness and even a bit of daubing on the door your mother could ignore, for pride like hers will take plenty of knocks; but having someone else hurt on her account - "   
  
"Would be more than she could abide." Rowanna's chest tightened and she swallowed hard on the lump in her throat. "Was - was she angry, Edyth?"   
  
"That was the worst thing of all." Edyth bowed her head a moment, and when she looked up again her eyes glittered in the one window's light. "I would have been glad to see her angry - not on my account, you know that, I wasn't badly hurt, just my ears ringing for a little - but for hers. But all the fight went out of her that night as surely as a stallion when he's cut. She just gave in; and the next morning she set about shutting up the house..."   
  
"When was this?" Rowanna asked, feeling a sudden strange prickling running down her spine.   
  
"Oh -" Edyth frowned - "a month ago, a little more? Four sennights or so after the year's turning - "   
  
_The night I had the worst dreams._ Rowanna slowly became aware of a sharp pain in her right palm; only when she lifted the hand to look at it did she realise she had been clutching the edge of the workbench so hard that she had driven a splinter right into the flesh. _I_ did _know; she was in trouble, and afraid... oh, Mother! I came as fast as I could, I swear!_  
  
Lifting her chin, she looked Edyth squarely in the eye. "And where has she gone, Edyth?" she asked, even as she had an uncanny feeling she could guess the answer.   
  
"The last place in the world you might think, given all she'd said over the years," Edyth retorted. "But she said if the Riddermark would no longer give her shelter, she'd but one choice; to go to the only other home she'd ever known, and see if there were any yet left there who would own her..."   
  
"To the White City."   
  
"Aye, you have it, my dear. She packed up what little she needed, and asked leave of Lady Éowyn to ride with a pair of messengers to the Steward, and back she went. Back to Mundburg."   
  
Rowanna let out a long, slow sigh as though she had not breathed for the last hour. _What should I do? I barely know where to begin -_ Absurdly, she heard herself ask:   
  
"How did you know I was here?"   
  
"Ah, well." Edyth glanced at Rowanna's beaker, and leant to refill it. "I told you what a place Edoras has become for gossip - not that it wasn't always, mind, but it's different now somehow: everyone watching everyone else, taking care of their steps, and never being sure quite who you can trust and who will carry tales to the wrong side of the Golden Hall - anyway, one of the lads who mucks out in the West-wall stables recognised you. Do you remember Swithun? he used to help bring beasts to and fro for you and Master Aelstan when you were out in the Eastfold? - anyway, he knew you, and being a good lad with a sharp head on his shoulders, he guessed where you'd be bound as soon as you had your horse settled. He said he tried to speak to you there, but he couldn't do it without being overheard; so he left you rubbing down, and ran to me. And I hope he wasn't missed and clouted for it after - "   
  
She broke off as the creak and thump of a door without was followed by scufflings and children's excited cries. "There now; that'll be Nelda back from market - "   
  
But it was not Nelda; for a moment later the workshop door was flung open, and a great tow-headed frame filled the doorway as a voice much deeper than Edyth's called:   
  
"Mother! Mother, have you heard - it's all over the City, my lord Éomer - "   
  
He came up short as his clear blue eyes fell on Rowanna; he flushed with that suddenness she knew so well in the open faces of the Eorlingas, and with a glare over his shoulder back into the house banged the workshop door shut again and hissed:   
  
"Who is this?"   
  
"Oh come, Teon, surely you know the lady! This is Mistress Rowanna, daughter of my lady Míranna - "   
  
"You brought _her_ here? Are you _mad_? With half the city spying on the other half, and the sky by the sound of it about to fall in on us - " Teon's face lost none of its flush. Rowanna gasped one sharp inbreath.   
  
"Teon! Now you watch your tongue, my lad, or big as you are I'll give you a clout! How can you speak so of a guest, and one whose kin always showed you such kindness!" Edyth was half up from her seat, and growing red in the face too, when Rowanna cut in icily:   
  
"I have no wish to remain where I am not wanted, Master Teon, any more than had my mother." _Heavens forgive me, but I could not keep that back!_ "If I am unwelcome or endanger you here - though I confess that for the life of me I still do not understand why - then I ask your pardon, and I shall be gone at once."   
  
She made to rise herself; but Teon extended a hand to stop her, shaking his great shaggy head.   
  
"Nay, mistress, it is I who must ask pardon." He moved around the workroom to fall onto the bench beside his mother. "The city's half crazed these days with rumour and murmurings, every man wanting someone to turn against and no longer knowing friend from foe, and it makes us all jumpy as half-trained colts. Mother is right, it's a shame against kin and people to be ungentle to a stranger so, and you are no stranger!" Picking up one of his small hammers from the end of the worktable where his tools were neatly ranged, he began turning it over and over in his fingers with a sigh.   
  
"And to end all, this news from Meduseld -"   
  
"What is it?" Both women shifted to face him, holding their breath.   
  
"You'd not heard, then? It was the talk of the wrights' street when I was down there; one of the hallwards who lodges there had come running - my lord Éomer's taken prisoner, and thrown in a cell beneath the Golden Hall, some say for treason!"

"Treason?"   
  
" _Éomer?_ But I rode in with him this morning! - "   
  
"B-but," Edyth stammered, "who could give such an order? To arrest a Marshal?"   
  
"Who but the king himself?" said Teon heavily. "And this, they're saying, surely is proof that Théoden King has lost his mind at last for grief, to cast his own sister-son in the dungeon; and if that's so then it's a sore day for the Riddermark, for now we'll be ruled by none but the Worm."   
  
For a moment no-one spoke; then there was bustle without once again, as Nelda and her sister Ardith came in from market and the children rushed around their skirts. Rowanna had to be taken out and introductions made, though Edyth made no mention of her mother nor journeys from the Elves in the North: "you remember, my lady worked with Master Aelstan out in the Eastfold, and so now she's back in the city with everyone else, and will stay with us a day or two while she gets matters in order."   
  
Not until supper was cleared away, and the children sleeping all in a tangle in their bed behind the hide curtains at the far end of the room, could anything more of import be said; as they were finishing their meal a young lass had come knocking for Ardith, asking could the midwife please come to her mother two streets away, who was at her time? So Ardith had hastily tied her shawl on and bid her children be good for their aunt and uncle, and wished them goodnight, and now it was Edyth, Teon and Nelda who gathered with Rowanna around the hearth and talked in low murmurs.   
  
"And that's as luck would have it, perhaps," Edyth had whispered to Rowanna as Nelda was seeing the children into bed, "for although I'd not say it to Nelda, who's sensible enough and won't breathe a word of anything she knows is not to be spoken of, Ardith is a good deal too fond of gossiping to remember what she should be telling and what not, and we're safer without her for tonight."   
  
Asked by Teon what she planned to do, Rowanna was adamant.   
  
"To go to Minas Tirith, of course, and find Mother. I am all she has in the world now; how could I not go to her?..."   
  
"But you can't go alone!" broke in Nelda. "It's more than a hundred leagues!"   
  
"And war's brewing," Teon added. "For all we know there could be orcs swarming all over the West-road before long - "   
  
Rowanna grimaced as memory caught at her. _What did I say to Elrond? That I would go to Mother though every orc in Mordor stood between? And he said we had not reached such straits! Well, perhaps we will yet..._  
  
"I know all that," she insisted. "Yet I must go! Edyth, you tell them - if it were Mother, what would she do?"   
  
Edyth shook her head and chuckled. "She has you there, son, I can't deny it. I never yet knew Lady Míranna leave off a thing she'd decided she must do, not for fear of orcs or worse!"   
  
"And yet it's not so simple," Teon pointed out. "You know the edict that went out, Mother - no strangers to roam in our land without express permission of the King. And now that even my lord Éomer's suspect - do you truly think Mistress Rowanna will just be let ride out of the gates? Every way from the city is guarded and watched; by day you'd be seen and by night all is barred..."   
  
Rowanna felt her heart sink. _Can the poison really have spread so deep? Will the land that raised me hold me prisoner now?_ "There _must_ be a way!" she implored Edyth.   
  
"There's but one, I'd say, can get you out of the city as things stand, if Lord Éomer's in hold," the older woman said firmly. "Somehow, we must get word to my lady Éowyn. Let me think..."   
  
She sat unusually quiet for a few moments, then got up from her stool and reached for her shawl where it hung on its peg. "I won't be gone long," she announced. "No, Teon, stay you here, I can go quieter and quicker without a great lump of a lad like you on my heels. If anyone asks, I've gone up to see that old Widow Goody in Straight Street isn't worse with her fever, and I'll be back before the candle's burned down." And with that, easing the door to behind her with barely a creak, she was gone.   
  
An anxious hour passed. Nelda brewed a tisane over the fire, and the scent of camomile and lavender calmed Rowanna's frayed nerves a little as she gratefully sipped it; they talked a little in whispers of matters in Edoras, the sickness of Théoden King and the treachery of of Grima Gálmodsson.   
  
"'Tis he for sure has poisoned the mind of the King," Teon insisted - "no, Nelda, I will say what's right by my own hearth though there are those would have me hung for it if they heard me - and if the mutterings are true, it's more than Théoden's mind the Worm has made sick. When did you last see the King? A year or more gone? Then you would not know him, lady, in truth, for he's aged a score of years since the winter alone."   
  
"And no longer seems to know left from right, nor care," added Nelda indignantly. "He had always such care for the common folk, did the King - but the way the city is now, with everyone in from the Eastfold hugger-mugger, with no thought for how to manage the lodging or food save what folks' own kin can manage - "   
  
"And if it weren't for my lord Éomer, Ardith and all the rest would still be out there at the mercy of whatever Mordor sends, if you ask me," Teon pointed out. "Days they said he was in and out of the Golden Hall arguing with his uncle that the Eastfold must be emptied, and my lady Éowyn asking what was to be done for she must take thought for board and lodging for so many folk, and nothing ordered-"   
  
"Till in the end they all came in in a panic, and were left to fend for themselves and the city bursting at the seams," his wife finished with a sigh. "Still, folk are safe now after a fashion, I suppose-"   
  
She broke off as a soft click marked the lifting of the iron latch. A moment later, Edyth had slipped back in through the shadows of the doorway and was hanging up her shawl.   
  
"All's well," she announced a little louder than Rowanna expected, "Widow Goody's sleeping peacefully, poor soul." With that, she eased the door shut, came over to the hearth and added in softer tones,   
  
"And you're to be at the bakehouse below Meduseld at dawn tomorrow, my lady, for the Lady Éowyn would speak with you about that bit of extra provisioning you had need of. Fear not, I'll wake you, for I shall be up before the sun myself in any case; old bones need little rest."   
  
They made up a straw pallet for Rowanna close to the hearth after they had banked down the fire, and Teon and Nelda bid her goodnight; but she lay staring into the dying firelight for hours, straining her ears for the slightest sound from the sleeping city, and felt she had barely dozed off when the first grey light and the muffled sounds of Edyth poking the fire told her it was time to rise.   
  
Shivering with cold, she gratefully accepted a steaming mug, but declined bread; _with this dry mouth I'd choke on lembas!_ She splashed icy water on her face at the backyard pump, and tried to take in Edyth's murmured instructions:   
  
"Go to the back door of the bakehouse - you know where it is, behind the Golden Hall where the hill slopes away? - and say you've come to see the Lady Éowyn if she has a moment, for she'd promised you a little extra bread to help feed your kin. Keep your hood up; and say nothing of what you really want unless my lady speaks of it first, for she'll know better than you whether the wrong ears are pricked anywhere about. Do not give your true name - you're Nelda's cousin Annis, if anyone asks - and whatever you do, say nothing of orcs, or Mundburg, or above all of Elves!"   
  
Rowanna nodded. "I'll remember. Edyth - thank you." She ducked her head hastily to kiss the older woman's cheek; then took a deep breath, eased the door softly open, and stepped out into the dewy chill of dawn.   
  
*******   
  
**Author's Notes:**  
  
All the new original character names in this chapter come from the Anglo-Saxon Girls' and Anglo-Saxon Boys' Names pages listed in the HASA URL Library.   
  
  



	23. Farewell We Call to Hearth and Hall

The city was just beginning its first faint morning stirrings: a boy passed her pulling a handcart laden with milk-churns; one or two shopkeepers emerged bleary-eyed from doorways and began to open their shutters. The sun was not up yet, and Rowanna found her teeth chattering as she took the well-known way up towards Meduseld. Only as she reached the edge of the great greensward where the familiar horse-head fountain chuckled did she falter; after a moment's hesitation she ducked back into the shadows, turned left into a side-street, and made her way by guesswork around through the back-alleys until her nose told her she was drawing close to the bakehouse behind the Golden Hall.   
  
It was a long, solid stone building, tile-roofed like the Hall itself, though in unassuming red clay rather than in gold; Rowanna dimly remembered from years ago the great fire, in which a spark from one of the ovens had burnt the old thatched wooden bakehouse to the ground, and which but for a long day of bucket-chains from the spring and the Snowbourn might have put paid to Meduseld too.   
  
The warm floury scent gusting from the open bakery windows would normally have made her mouth water; now, however, it made her dry stomach heave and her mouth feel suddenly bitter. She forced herself to swallow, closed her eyes and took one long steadying breath; then she stepped forward and found herself joining a little knot of folk waiting, with varying degrees of patience, at the bakehouse's back door. Loaves were being handed out; one or two here, a basketful there, with a few envious glances to and fro as each measured how well others were faring. At last it was Rowanna's turn to be confronted by the kerchiefed goodwife, as broad as the doorway behind her, who was clearly in charge.   
  
"If you please, mistress," - she summoned up every vestige of her childhood Eastfold accents, and hoped she had tucked all her blatantly foreign black hair under her hood - "I was told the Lady Éowyn might have the goodness to see me a moment; 'tis Annis, Nelda's cousin of Silver Street..." Firmly folded arms and a sharp-eyed look at first greeted her plea; then the bakewife said abruptly,   
  
"Wait you here," and turned to call over her shoulder. A pink-cheeked lad with tell-tale crumbs around his mouth appeared, darted off again, and then - as the goodwife turned her attention to the next hopeful arrival - returned and jerked his head in summons to Rowanna. He threaded a tight path between rows of tables where red-faced women, sleeves rolled and hair tucked back, were pounding at dough before the great ovens constantly filled and emptied by sweating bakers, then gestured.   
  
"Lady Éowyn's busy, she asks you wait a moment - " and scurried off on his next errand.   
  
Éowyn's back was turned, her braided hair bound like all the others in a scarf behind; but even without the gown or jewels of the Lady of Meduseld, even without sight of her face, there was no mistaking height or bearing, tall and straight as a birch sapling. So when she turned around to her latest petitioner, Rowanna's heart gave a great jolt which she could only pray had not shown in her face, as she hastily sank into the best curtsey she could manage.   
  
_She was ever slender and pale, but... so white, and so drawn? Such black shadows under her eyes?_  
  
She swallowed her shock: _quickly, there's no time!_ Rising at Éowyn's gesture, she stepped close, and murmured, "Annis, madam, cousin of Nelda, Edyth's daughter-in-law from Silver Street..." _Now for it,_ she thought; _will I be known as aught else?_   
  
"I know," Éowyn's deep voice said firmly; "I was expecting you. Come this way, we have set aside bread for your kin..." She drew Rowanna a little further from the kneaders and bakers, into a corner where baskets of loaves were piled high.   
  
"You need to go tonight?"   
  
"As soon as may be, my lady -"   
  
"Not before dark," Éowyn cut her off softly. "At dusk, go down to the postern-gate in the West-wall under the watchtower - you know it? good - and see whether the guard there wears _simbelmynë_ on his left sleeve. If he does not, turn straight around and go home again! If he does, say to him only: 'I'm the seamstress' daughter,' and you shall have passage, and shall know that the watch above in the tower is primed to let you go unhindered."   
  
"My horse?..." Rowanna whispered, while she tried furiously to memorise the instructions she knew Éowyn would not repeat.   
  
"In the West-wall stables, is he not? He shall be readied for you - do not go yourself! - and brought around outside the wall; I have one who will see to it." She glanced over her shoulder, and made as if to move away.   
  
"Lady Éowyn?" Her head flicked back: _make haste_ , her raised eyebrow said.   
  
"I.. I am so sorry for your loss."   
  
The moment it was out, she wished she had left it unsaid: for Éowyn's mouth trembled for just an instant, before she bit down hard on her lip, nodded curtly, and turned away. _You fool,_ Rowanna berated herself; _with her brother in hold and her cousin dead, she has her mask in place hour after hour, day after day, and you almost crack it with a word!_ She was about to turn and go herself, forcing herself not to run, when with a great thump of her heart she remembered: _bread!_ and after a moment's indecision took the smallest and least-loaded basket she could see, pulled her hood well forward again and hurried back down the bakehouse. She was almost at the back door again when from across the room, beneath the wide arch of the main doorway where carts could draw up, she heard Éowyn's voice once more, with something in its perfectly courteous ice that brought her up short:   
  
"I must pray my lord Gríma excuse me; I am _not at leisure_."   
  
" _Such_ devotion to duty..."   
  
Rowanna could see nothing beyond Éowyn's rigid stillness: yet something in the unctuous hissing of that other voice made her want to retch anew. Choking down her nausea, forcing down the impulse to go to Éowyn's side - _for if she cannot help herself, there will be nothing you can do!_ she wormed her way past the growing huddle of hopeful faces outside the bakehouse, forced herself to walk the length of the first two alleys back downhill, and then with a sobbed gasp of relief broke into a run, skidding in the mud all the way back to the house in Silver Street with her unexpected - but to Nelda, most welcome - basket of bread.   
  
***   
  
Never had Rowanna - with no great gift for sitting still at the best of times - felt herself so close to going mad as she did while the rest of the long morning wore away. As the children fought joyfully over the extra bread come warm from the King's own bakehouse, and Ardith began to protest that she had not known they were such a burden and had to be soothed by Nelda, it had taken her some time even to catch a moment with Edyth privately enough to let her know what was planned.   
  
"Well enough," Edyth said softly, "and all praise to my lady, I was sure she'd not let us down; the Worm may have half Edoras in his grip or beneath his heel, but no question who has the hearts and spirits of the other half in her keeping! I'll put you up food and whatever clothing we can spare, as and when I can do it without Ardith paying too close attention, before sundown - Nelda's chemises are too small for you, but there's an old shirt of Teon's you might have if I've time to cut it down, just for a spare - are your boots going to last you? But you must keep to the house; we can't risk the wrong eyes catching sight of you and all our hard work going to waste..."   
  
In snatched moments, as Ardith went out to the pump at the street-corner or the children were chased out to feed the hens, Rowanna and Edyth laid what further plans they could.   
  
"I meant to ask you, mistress," Edyth enquired as she handed Rowanna more vegetables to peel for the stew - "need you anything from your dear mother's house? We daren't let you near the place, but I could try to slip up - "   
  
"The only thing is, Edyth - " Rowanna flushed - "I should give you something for all the food and clothing, when times are so hard here, and I might yet need coin before I reach Minas Tirith, or when I do - " _if!_ she added silently - "but I brought barely any with me, for El - in the North, I mean, they have little use for it! D-do you know if Mother-"   
  
"Ah, now, there we do have an answer," Edyth told her in a whisper, glancing at the door, "for your mother sold nearly all she had here, and though she took gold in plenty with her, she left a little coin with me - 'for I still hope and pray, Edyth, that Rowanna will come home one day, and if she does and finds me gone, she may have need of it!'"   
  
"Edyth - I never had a chance to ask!" Rowanna suddenly remembered the question which Teon's bursting into the workshop the previous day had driven out of her head. "Did Béodred ever get back here? Does Mother-" She stumbled, feeling tears spring to her eyes, and dashed them impatiently away. "Does she even know I am alive?"   
  
Edyth smiled, and took up the paring-knife Rowanna had left unheeded on the table. "Bless you, that she does - do you think she would ever have left Edoras, even as bad as things were, with no news of you? Béodred came back, right enough, and straight up to the Weaversgate to set your mother's heart at rest - though in truth, he may have done as much harm as good without knowing it; for he was always too straight-tongued to be very careful how soft he spoke, that one, and goodness knows who overheard his wide-eyed tales to your mother of Elves and enchantment and I don't know what, but there's no mending that now..."   
  
"And after all he did for me, I could hardly begrudge it in any case," Rowanna admitted. "Where is he, Edyth?"   
  
"Off to the war, like so many of the hot-headed lads," Edyth sighed. "When my lord Théodred called for more men to swell his _éored_ Béodred was waiting with the first in line - "   
  
"With Théodred?" Rowanna winced. "But -"   
  
"But that means he would have been at Isen, aye," the older woman agreed. "And news comes slow and scanty of any but the great men's sons from battle, and no word yet of any but Théodred, save that things went very ill; so like half the city, we must wait and see." She tipped her chopped turnips into the stewpot and rose, grunting a little, to her feet. "Now, child, there are a few things I must go out for; when Ardith gets back with the water, put that on to boil for me and watch it, and try not to let her silly chatter drive you into saying any more than you ought, till I get back; and for your forefathers' sakes, _don't_ leave the house!"   
  
The warning, Rowanna admitted to herself an hour later, had been well given; for while Ardith talked perhaps no more then Edyth did, she said a great deal less to any purpose, and seemed furthermore to assume Rowanna would share all her own ingrained views on everything from the rearing of children to the best way to pluck a fowl. Rowanna was casting about in desperation for some excuse to escape into the yard for a while, when a sound outside caught her attention.   
  
"What's that? It sounded like a horn-"   
  
Before Ardith could reply, though, one of Nelda's children, the lad called Wulf, crashed in through the door bursting with excitement and news.   
  
"Mother! Where's Mother? - oh, Aunt Ardith, have you heard? A wizard! There's a wizard in the city -someone said his name's Greyhame - and a dwarf and an elf and a strange tall man with him! They went up to Meduseld, and they're saying he's cured the King, and the war-horns are blowing, and -"   
  
Rowanna did not wait for the rest of Wulf's tale, or Ardith's exclamations of excitement, or even stop to pull her cloak from its peg; before boy or aunt could say another word she had leapt up from her stool, thrown the door open and was running, cursing her unaccustomed skirts, back up towards the Golden Hall.   
  
In the streets was chaos; and she soon began to fear she would never get near Meduseld through the crowd, which jostled and bustled, throwing rumour back and forth as it ebbed and flowed:   
  
"- heard the heralds? Aye, mustering the City and all around - they've been blowing the warhorns this half-hour and more -"   
  
"- said the Worm spat at Théoden - at the _king!_ \- and then ran for his life-"   
  
"a Dwarf, I tell you, a real Dwarf as I live and breathe, and-"   
  
Infuriated, Rowanna tried to push and pardon her way forward; at last she reached the wide street which led up to Meduseld's stair, but even here the crowd was two or three thick in front of her, pressing her back almost to the walls of the houses. Suddenly a great cry went up; craning, she caught sight of Éowyn on the steps of the Golden Hall far above her, and gasped at the sight of her with a great sword and wearing mail which dazzled in the sun. Who was coming down, clearing a path into the cheering mass? - a standard-bearer - the King! Théoden himself armed for battle! The crowds surged in close behind him - who followed? she could not see; and then-   
  
"See, I told you! An Elf!"   
  
Even among so many tall fair heads in the crowd she knew him at once, and froze on the spot, feeling her heart leap. But before she could move, while she hesitated for one torn instant over whether she should even try to go to him, he stopped suddenly and whipped around, as though something had caught his attention; then he was on the move, slipping through the throng as easily as water around rocks, until he stood in front of her.   
  
"Rowanna, _mae govannen!_ " His smile was ready for her as ever, yet there was something tight, strained, somewhere in his voice. "You reached Edoras in safety, then!"   
  
He was about to say more, but her sharply indrawn breath checked him. Shocked, she put a hand up to touch the polished mail at his shoulder.   
  
"Legolas, you - _armour?_..."   
  
He nodded, suddenly grim. "We ride to the relief of Erkenbrand at the Fords of the Isen. I would gladly be rid of its weight and bulk, for it slows me and I can barely reach my quiver; but Aragorn insists, and I may yet have much cause to be glad of it."   
  
There was so much she needed to know, and so little time, that she scarcely knew where to begin.   
  
"Merry and Pippin? Did you reach them?"   
  
"We did not - but," as her face must have betrayed her dismay, "fear not, _rohiril_ , they are safe and well cared for, or so Mithrandir claims, and I have given up being astonished at anything he says!"   
  
"Then - then it _is_ Gandalf! They said Greyhame - but - but he-"   
  
"Fell, yes," and the shadow that darted across Legolas' features was replaced by an expression she could recognize, even on a once-unreadable Elven face, as pure joy: "but returned! Not the Grey Pilgrim now but the White, and even greater in his powers - though as impossible as ever, and still speaking in riddles!"   
  
He quirked an eyebrow at her, a comfort so familiar that she almost laughed. "And you - is all well, _mellonen_? What news of your mother? - "   
  
"She has gone." Rowanna felt her chest heave with a great sob of suppressed worry and tension, and then before she could check it the whole tale tumbled out: the growing hostility of the fearful city; mistrust of even those strangers who had not been strange for many years past; and at last her mother's proud refusal to trespass any longer upon the hospitality of a land which claimed to want her no more.   
  
He listened, standing very close to her under the thatched eaves so that she could speak low as she felt she must, and as she ended he grasped her shoulders and looked intently into her face.   
  
"You mean to follow her," he said with certainty. "You mean to go to Minas Tirith - to ride into the heart of a land about to be overwhelmed by war!"   
  
_He knows,_ Rowanna realised. She closed her eyes in despair; _he will tell me it is too dangerous - he will want to stop me, tell Aragorn, and Aragorn and Théoden King will forbid me to go, and I will be honour bound to obey the Chieftain even if I could get out of the city once the King denies me! -_ But before she could draw breath for pleading or protest, she felt a sudden weight of cloth settling around her shoulders, and the quick careful working of deft fingers at her throat. Opening her eyes in surprise, she looked down to see a grey cloak placed about her; her hand, when she put it up to her neck, found the smooth cool of enamel.   
  
"It is the cloak I was given in Lórien," said Legolas tersely, "worked by the maidens of the Lady Galadriel herself. You remember how the wearer can melt almost away? It will hide you from hostile eyes; and you may encounter many of those before you reach the White City..."   
  
She tried to speak, and found she could only stare at him, amazed. He had her by the shoulders again, gazing at her as though he needed every detail of her face in memory. A sudden cheer from further down the hill told them that the King's party had reached the gates; Legolas tore his gaze away a moment to glance over his shoulder and murmured,   
  
"I could wish - "   
  
Then for a moment he came back to her, for once with no flicker of a smile in the grey-blue eyes, more earnest than she had ever seen him.   
  
"I give you the hallowed blessing of my House," he said softly, stepping close again away from the crowds. "Elbereth guide you - " she felt his lips gentle on her left cheek - "guard you - " - her right cheek - "and protect you," - he took her head between his hands and kissed her solemnly on the brow - "to the end of the world."   
  
Then without another word, without giving her time to open her mouth, he whirled and was gone, darting between the people still thronging down towards the Gate; while Rowanna stood like stone, her fingertips resting where his lips had met her cheek, gazing after him in wonder.   
  
***   
  
The clattering of hooves in the street leading down to the Gate brought her back to herself, and it suddenly dawned on her what the heralds were still crying in the streets: "Muster! Eorlingas, to the King!" Looking down the hill, she saw the Gate thrown open, heard the clashing of spear on shield, saw the great host preparing to move off, and realised: _The Worm gone, the muster called, errand-riders going out every which way - this is it! Go!_  
  
Throwing open the door below the silver fish, she caught Edyth by the arm and for once got her tale in first: Edyth, though she never stopped berating Rowanna for her foolishness, "going flying out of the house like that when for all you knew anything could be happening!" caught her intention at once, and bustled about packing the readied food and shirts and water-skins into her saddlebags, taking not the slightest notice of Ardith's shrill exclamations . Rowanna dived behind the bed-curtain to throw off her borrowed skirts, yanking breeches and shirt and boots on frantically, taking a moment's more care to refasten the precious grey cloak. In minutes she was done; she ducked into the workshop to clasp a friendly hand with Teon, kissed Nelda, waved to the children who watched with huge round eyes from the corners, and at last met Edyth again in the doorway.   
  
"Cover up that black hair of yours, for pity's sake, if you want to be thought an errand-rider of the Mark," the older woman scolded, tucking the rogue strands away under the grey hood. "And where did you get this cloak? - it's not the one you came with!"   
  
"No time now, Edyth," Rowanna panted. "Take mine in thanks, it's a good one, Elven weave-"   
  
"Béma himself keep you, child," Edyth said firmly, "safe from orcs and war and all foul things; and when you reach Mundburg, tell your lady mother she's much missed, and may we all come to better times."   
  
Rowanna nodded, hugged her hard and swiftly, grabbed up saddlebags and ran. Down to the West-wall; a quick look over Gelion, who seemed well enough fed and rested and watered, and nickered in pleasure to see her.   
  
"No time for treats now, lad, I'm sorry!" Rowanna murmured as she raced to saddle up. "And I hope you're in best fettle, for we've a long road to go with all haste and no spare mount to give you a rest - but I'll make it up to you, I promise!"   
  
She mounted up, got out of the stables, down to the Gate without speaking to any or doing anything to draw anyone's eye or ear in the general hubbub - then they were out, the gate-guards thinking nothing of one more errand-rider passing through in haste; down the hill, clear of the city and away like the wind, down the Great West Road, for Gondor.   
  



	24. Steed went Striding to the Stoningland

Six days.  
  
Afterwards, when they asked her incredulously in the City whence and how she had come, Rowanna reckoned up and decided it must have been on the sixth day that she reached the Rammas; but the time had become a fevered blur of riding and enforced rests, knowing she must spare Gelion, yet pacing and watching every minute that they stopped to drink at a stream and let him graze.   
  
Along the line of the White Mountains, the great snow-capped wall rearing away to her right, the West Road unrolled; the grass was encroaching on stretches as though in these troubled times it saw little use, but still she and Gelion could make good speed through the Eastfold, Rowanna staring ahead as if she could will the leagues to pass more swiftly under them. Once clear of Edoras' watchtowers she had soon forced herself to bring the horse down to a trot, knowing well that her wild impulse to gallop all the way to the White City would run them both into the ground within a day; and so with the long experience of years crossing and re-crossing the Riddermark's plains she had him trot and canter, trot and canter, muttering "More haste - less speed. More haste - less speed" through gritted teeth. _Just get there before the War does. Just get there - Mother, I'm coming!_  
  
At first the shapes of the peaks away southward were familiar – Erech; the slopes which she remembered led up to Tarlang's Neck; Halifirien looming above his thickly wooded foothills - but after she and Gelion splashed easily through the Mering Stream and passed unheralded and unremarked into Gondor, she frowned at the mountains when they rested, struggling to place each peak to a half-remembered name. _Calenhad, then Minrimmon, Nardol - wait, where did Erelas come?_ Each time her mind veered away into wild dreads as she shivered on the ground, trying to snatch uneasy sleep, she forced herself back to the rote lesson at her mother's knee; _don't think about it, just count the beacon-hills - Erelas, Nardol, Eil, eil, Eilenach? What has befallen the Westfold? Did they reach Isen? Is he -_  
  
***  
  
He knelt in the shelter of the Deeping Wall's great parapet, gazing down at the heaving mass of foul black shapes below him lit by blinding flashes of white lightning, trying to let the rain and the screams and the thunder from battle and sky wash over him unheeded. _Nock, draw, loose, seventeen, nock, draw, loose, eighteen... How many days' ride, to Minas Tirith? Are all the orcs of Mordor marching into her path this very night? Do not think on it, not now. Draw and loose. Draw and loose. Nineteen. Twenty..._  
  
***  
  
"Steady, Gelion! _Sîdh, sîdh, mellon nin!_ " As the huge black horror overhead blotted out moon and stars, Rowanna crouched frozen against the horse's neck, pulling the grey Lórien cloak over her head, and willed her mount with hands and knees and whisper to be still under the tree where they had ducked. When she slowly raised her eyes again and dared to breathe, she thanked all the heavens for the courage and schooling of the Elves' beasts; for Gelion had stood firm, though he sweated and huffed with fear. Even before the mind-shattering shriek carried back to them from afar on the wind, the sick shaking she felt all over told her what the thing was beyond doubt. _They have_ wings, _now? They have taken to the sky?..._  
  
***  
  
At the foot of Dol Baran the Riders stood rigid, the noisome black form still bearing down on their minds. As Gandalf leant down from Shadowfax's saddle to confer with Aragorn, Legolas on the other side reached up for the hobbit's shaking hand. "Fear not, Pippin. Shadowfax will outrun even the Nazgûl, should Gandalf command him, and he will not let you fall." Pippin, teeth clamped together against cold and fear, nodded tightly. "And now, I have a commission for you, my friend; will you bear a message for me?"  
  
"But - you don't know where I'm going! _I_ don't know where I'm going!"  
  
"Ah, but I would lay a good guess." One side of the Elf's mouth quirked briefly in a wry half-smile. "If you go whither I suspect, then at journey's end you may meet a friend of us both: and if you do so, tell her that I think of her in peril and in peace, that she should not lose hope, and that we may yet meet again beyond the darkness."  
  
The hobbit's lips moved for a moment soundlessly as he committed the words to memory. "Well, I'll remember, though I still don't understand to whom I might be saying it or why! You are becoming as bad as Gandalf for speaking in riddles, but never mind..."  
  
Legolas chuckled, and again squeezed his small hand briefly. "Thank you, Pippin; it means much to me. Swift ride and safe journey's end - and try to keep our wizard out of trouble!"  
  
Gandalf snorted as he straightened up in the saddle. "This is no time for idle chatter. Farewell! Follow fast! Away, Shadowfax!" And like the wind down off the slopes of the Ered Nimrais he and Pippin were gone, into the night.  
  
***  
  
On they went into the Sunlending ( _Anórien_ , Rowanna reminded herself, _here they call it Anórien_ ) - into land made lush by the rills running out of the White Mountains to join the Entwash, but firmer underfoot than the boggy Wetwang to the north; perfect riding country, had Rowanna been more of a mind to enjoy her surroundings. _Every league eastwards, a league closer to..._ \- she could not keep the thought from her mind as her eyes rose unbidden to the dark smudge on the horizon which she knew to be the northern fringes of the Ephel Duath, the sky above it an angry darkness tinged with flame. _Frodo and Sam..._ There, Legolas had told her, the Hobbits had intended to go: and the thought of two small figures trudging into that wasteland undefended tore at her heart. _All that is good seems to hang by a thread..._  
  
Every league they advanced she felt the tension build inside her, watching the road ahead for any sign of dust, of a great host on the move; but this near-empty land lay eerily quiet as it waited for war. The Nazgûl were still abroad, for several times a day - or night - the bone-shaking screeching would break the silence, but always high and far off. Whatever the black horrors sought, either the cloak of Lórien did all that Legolas had promised, or - more likely, she reasoned - she was of little interest to them.  
  
Gelion showed himself more sturdy than any horse so finely-made had any right to be; though she was forcing herself to husband his strength jealously, making league after league at a steady trot, he would pull from time to time to break into a canter, and was still holding his head up at the end of the longest day. He was losing condition, she admitted ruefully, despite the handfuls of grain she had managed to obtain along the way - for to her relief, not all the isolated farmsteads scattered along the Anórien road were deserted. Though it took a good deal of soft calling and waiting with pounding heart to see who - or what- would emerge, several of the farmfolk eventually decided that a lone woman riding down the West-road on the eve of war might be mad but was otherwise no threat, and they came cautiously out to take her coin in exchange for grain for Gelion, a lump of bread and cheese, or a refill of her water-skin. No, they told her, no sight or sound of anything from the East yet; some were still packing wagons up to leave, while a few lifted chins with stubborn defiance and swore to see Mordor off their lands, or die first.  
  
Then she and Gelion saw a great dark forest rising up the foothills of the mountains south of the Road, and Rowanna felt an odd stirring as though she should remember it. What did she know of this road? A map in one of her mother's books, a long-ago description? She could not recall - and yet, somehow, she was not surprised when as the afternoon was fading the road gradually swung around the woods' edge, bringing the setting sun from their backs to their right side, and pointing them due south around the end of the Ered Nimrais.  
  
"Yonder it lies, Gelion! The White City! Tomorrow..."  
  
Gelion whinnied and pricked his ears: yet they both spent an uneasy night. They made camp in the fringes of the forest, under cover a little way from the road, and all night on the breeze which rustled through the pines Rowanna thought she heard a strange, rhythmic thunder like distant drums.  
  
***  
  
Mist was curling thickly about them when the night paled enough to let her abandon any pretence at sleep, and Rowanna shivered, dew-sodden, as she saddled the forbearing Gelion and forced down a few of the dried apple slices which were nearly all the food she had left. "Shall we get on, boy? I know you could scarcely call it dawn yet, but I can make out the road, and there's no use pretending either of us will be better rested for waiting any longer."  
  
So they set off, and an hour or more later were more than rewarded. The sun as it rose steadily burned off the pre-dawn mist, and as they climbed a slight hillock, a breath of wind chased away the wisps of fog in their immediate path. Suddenly in the distance against the dark feet of the mountains Rowanna glimpsed brightness; a pearly gleam touched with rose and gold by the sunrise. _Minas Tirith! There she lies!_  
  
As the fog lifted and day came in earnest, they began for the first time to see others on the road: they passed ox- and donkey-carts piled high with children and goods, a few mules bearing an old man or woman or a great pile of bedding and cooking-pots. _They're fleeing,_ Rowanna realised with a shudder. _They know war is on their heels and they go - to the City? Can it take them all?.._  
  
Steadily Minas Tirith grew nearer; as the sun climbed towards noon, however, Rowanna realised she would have to declare herself long before she reached the dazzling white towers. The faint line across the green which she had been puzzling over from a distance turned out to be a high stone wall; and the one, narrow gate in it that she could see was clearly guarded. Away to her left she could still see carts and wagons coming and going; but they were taking the long way around the wall, presumably unable to pass through the narrow northern gate. The road up to the two pairs of rigid sentries was empty.  
  
"Well, we've come this far, lad," she murmured to Gelion, trying to convince herself, "and I'll be damned if I'll give up now! Come on!" And with a nudge of her heels, they cantered the last few score yards up to the out-wall. As they approached, she realised that there were gaps and half-ruined sections in the stonework, and that the figures toiling back and forth with barrows and buckets at the wall's base were in fact rebuilding it.  
  
"Halt! Who goes there?"   
  
The challenge came just as expected, yet still it set Rowanna's heart thumping. _Just let me through, please, please let me through!_ She reined Gelion in as commanded, as one of the sentries stepped forward.  
  
"Rowanna is my name, daughter of Halemnar and Míranna of Minas Tirith; I ride to seek my mother in the city, I fear she may be sick or in grave trouble - I beg your leave to pass!"  
  
"In the city?" The sentry gestured to one of his fellows, who nodded and vanished briskly through the gate. "If she's still in the city, lady, then she'll be in trouble soon enough, 'tis true! But we cannot let just any pass the Rammas Echor like that. If your kin are within the walls, then how come you to be riding down from the West-road? Where've you come from?"  
  
She was saved from answering at once by the reappearance of the other sentry from within the wall, accompanied by an older guard with what she guessed to be an officer's silver on one shoulder. He looked her up and down with narrowed eyes.  
  
"What is this tale you spin my men? Whence come you? No strangers may pass into the City at this time!"  
  
Even in his apparent hostility, there was something familiar - a trace of her mother's accent, perhaps; the black hair and grey eyes which had marked Rowanna herself out as so strange through her Riddermark childhood - which made her put her chin up and respond firmly:  
  
  
"I am no stranger. I have come down from Anórien, up away towards the border with Rohan -" _that's true enough_ , she qualified inwardly, _even if I've come much further before that!_ "and I seek my mother, Míranna daughter of Rían of the house of the Annúmellyrn, who returned some months ago to the City after many years away - "  
  
"Míranna?" The officer frowned. "What father-name gave you to my men?"  
  
"My father's name was Halemnar," she said, suddenly struggling to keep the tremor from her voice. "Halemnar son of Hyarmenhîr son of Andamir -"  
  
"And he married Míranna daughter of Rían, and settled where?" her questioner asked sharply.  
  
"In Rohan. He served in the éored of Éomund, Third Marshal of the Mark, and - was killed in his service..."  
  
"...more than a score of years ago." The officer's frown had softened. "And I knew he had a daughter, too, and I can see him in your face, though I think I never heard what he called you. I knew your father, lady, before he departed to serve our friends the Rohirrim. Ingold is my name. Your pardon for a moment - "  
  
He signed to the two guards a pace behind him, who snapped to attention and marched back to their stations on either side of the gate; then he disappeared briefly into the small gatehouse tucked against the wall, returning with a small piece of parchment, bearing a message in an elegant cursive hand, which he rolled neatly and handed to her.  
  
"Should the sentries at the Great Gate make any difficulties, show them that, and tell them you were given leave at the north-gate of the Rammas. You may pass, lady, for all the good it will do you."  
  
"Wh-what do you mean, Master Ingold?" She felt sudden cold in the pit of her stomach. Ingold sighed.  
  
"In truth, madam, I will be surprised if you find your mother, or any kin but men of fighting age, yet within the walls; for my Lord Steward's order is that the old and the sick, the children and the women must all be gone south to Lossarnach or Lebennin by tomorrow noon. War is upon us. The City must empty."


	25. I'll Look for Thee, And Call to Thee

Ingold's words echoed in Rowanna's ears as she trotted Gelion on along the road across the great Pelennor Field; past barns and storehouses, orchards and farmsteads, all bearing the signs of recent hasty departure. The ground on either side of the paved road was churned up with the marks of countless hooves and cloven feet; here and there in a farmyard goods or furniture lay piled, as though packed up and then reluctantly abandoned; not a chimney smoked, and every door was shut. Ahead of her, Rowanna could still see little clusters of livestock and wains and people, riding and on foot, the straggling end of a long line which went up towards the City and then – as far as she could make out – turned left, sweeping around the walls and away towards the South. _War is upon us. The City must empty. But I must get in, I must get in..._  
  
As she drew closer, Rowanna found her eye drawn upwards, up the line of the walls and the climbing circles of Minas Tirith, to the shining Tower of the Citadel just discernible overhead. The City which had seemed to float almost weightless above the morning's mists now bore down, a mass of white stone towering so close overhead that it seemed ready to tip forward and crush her beneath it. She blinked hard, trying to dispel a wave of dizziness, and forced her eyes down to the great Gate; it was thronging with people, lines of wagons, bleating sheep and goats, and a number of very harassed guards attempting to maintain a semblance of order among a jostling crowd of would-be refugees, messengers and merchants.  
  
"Steady there! Let the womenfolk and the children out, can't you!"  
  
"..of course know my duty to Gondor, Sergeant, but this represents all my remaining stock – what surety of compensation can you give me?..."  
  
"Sir," broke in the gate-guard, who looked as though he was fighting to keep his tongue in check, "it is as you know the order of the Lord Steward that all remaining foodstuffs save those needful for the journey to the Southlands are requisitioned for the soldiery of the City against any coming siege. If Gondor has the victory, you can be assured of recompense in full in due time. If, Valar forbid, the City should fall.. then in truth, payment for your goods is like to be the very last of your concerns."  
  
He shook his head in exasperation as the baker, snorting, turned his mule to follow the stream of people away out of the Gate; gestured to one of his fellows to get something done about the cartload of loaves left behind which was blocking half the roadway, then raised his eyebrows at Rowanna, who hastily proffered Master Ingold's parchment without a word. The guard glanced through it, muttered something about "Women, now? Are matters grown so dire up in Anórien?.." then nodded her through without another word and turned hastily to deal with the next petitioner. Abandoning any thought of asking for help or guidance, Rowanna decided to count her blessings; she took a deep breath and walked Gelion forward under the gate, nudging him cautiously through the little knots of tense-faced women and frightened children still waiting to pass through, and set off up the cobbled street as though she knew exactly where she wished to go.  
  
She followed the wide white road as it wound upward, around the first corner, out of sight of the Gate; then, spotting a small drinking-fountain set into the wall and spilling clear water into a trough, she slid from the saddle with a shaky breath of relief, sat down on the stone bench alongside, and let Gelion drink while she leant back against the cool stone of the wall and wondered what in the name of all the heavens she was to do next.  
  
A woman with a scarf wrapped over her hair and a large bundle tied on her back, leading a child by each hand, emerged from a side-street and came hurrying down the broad way; seizing her chance, Rowanna hailed her.  
  
"Your pardon, mistress, I am sure you are in haste – I seek one Míranna, daughter of Rían, my mother – would you know of her?" The woman looked up startled, shook her head apologetically and chivvied her children on down the street without a word.  
  
Two further such encounters went no better, and Rowanna felt unease beginning to stir towards panic. _What if I simply cannot find her? The City is so vast – I had not thought – and half-empty, on the edge of war, and I know barely anything of my kin here even if there was any likelihood they are still within!.._ She shook herself and got to her feet. _Sitting there waiting for the answer to drop into your lap won't get you anywhere, my girl!_ She clicked to Gelion, took up his halter and moved slowly on along the street, noticing the craftsmen's signs over their now firmly-barred doors; an oil-lamp here, some kind of lantern there.  
  
A little further along, her eye was caught by an elegant building larger than any she had yet seen in the street; it stood back from the roadway behind a long, narrow green lawn, on which several lads were darting about throwing a ball, seemingly without a care in the world. Cheered by such unexpectedly light hearts in the fearful city, she stopped to watch; a moment later a thin face surrounded by a mop of black hair peeked out from one of the pillars flanking the lawn, vanished again when she smiled at it, and then cautiously re-emerged.  
  
"Hey! That's a fine piece of horseflesh, mistress – how'd you get to keep him?"  
  
"He is fine, indeed," Rowanna smiled at the boy, glad to encounter someone at least willing to speak to her. "But what do you mean, keep him?"  
  
"Horses're all requisitioned, for the Steward's errand-riders," the lad retorted. "Or so my Da said, and he should know, being a groom up on the Sixth where they keep 'em. You let any of the city watch or the Guard see you with that one, mistress, and they'll have him off out to Osgiliath in no time!" He grinned at her obvious alarm and leant back against the pillar, chewing on a bit of grass. "And if you don't mind me asking, what are you doing still in the City, miss? Women and children all gone by tomorrow noon, that was the order!"  
  
"Ah, but I have only just come, and I was never in the City before in my life!" Rowanna sighed, scratching Gelion's nose as he mouthed hopefully at her jerkin in search of treats. "I am looking for my mother, Míranna, daughter of Rían, whose husband was in the service of Eomund of Rohan – you would not know where I might find her, I don't suppose?.."  
  
The boy shook his head, but turned to call over his shoulder towards the scrimmage for the ball now taking place on the lawn.  
  
"Bergil? Hey! Bergil! Get your long shanks over here a minute..."  
  
The lad thus hailed emerged panting from somewhere in the scrum and loped over, brushing mud and grass from his tunic; as he bowed and spoke, Rowanna realised that he might indeed be ten or eleven and lanky, rather than the fourteen years or so his height at first suggested.   
  
"Greetings, lady! How may we serve you?"  
  
"Hark at you!" scoffed his companion. "That's why we need you, see, Bergil – lady's looking for her ma, and sounds like quality to me, so more your Circle than mine, I reckon, you being a Citadel Guard's son and all. Tell him all those names and things again, mistress..."  
  
Rowanna complied, caught between the impulse to laugh and a suspicion that this was all a waste of time; _these are children! I need the Guard, an officer..._ But the lad Bergil was clearly quick-witted, establishing in moments the few clues Rowanna had.  
  
"That sounds like the Fourth circle," he said thoughtfully, "perhaps even the Fifth. And you have no other name, lady – not of a street nor a house?"  
  
"I'm trying to remember..." Rowanna frowned. "I am sure I did know, when I was a child, the name of the street where Mother was brought up, where she lived until she married Father. But I had not thought of it for years, and..." She shook her head in frustration. "No, it has gone."  
  
"It matters not, my lady." The child struck his chest solemnly, forcing her to bite back a smile. "If your mother is yet within the walls then Bergil son of Beregond of the Guard will see her found!"  
  
"I thank you, Bergil Beregond's son," Rowanna responded gravely. _At least here is one willing to hear me and to help, if he can!_ "Where do we begin?"  
  
"The Fourth Circle, I think," the lad responded, chewing on his lip thoughtfully for a moment, "it's nearly deserted by now, I'd guess, but we can knock at doors along Silk Street and Clerks Lane, we..."  
  
He went on cheerfully outlining the proposed search, but his voice seemed to grow faint and far-off; a roaring like a rising wind filled Rowanna's ears, and her vision blurred. Staggering, she heard Bergil's distant cry of alarm, then felt firm hands under her arms taking her weight and lowering her to sit.  
  
"Steady, miss – that's it, head between your knees," the voice of the lad who had first accosted her made its way through the fog in her brain. "Take a few deep breaths – don't flap about like a heron, Bergil, the lady's only taken faint, she'll be right as rain in a moment, won't you, mistress?" After a few unsteady breaths, Rowanna felt the dizziness recede enough for her to raise her head cautiously and assure the gaggle of curious boys now surrounding her that this was so.  
  
"When did yer last eat anything, miss? You've gone white as the mountains!"   
  
"I.." She thought back. "Nothing since dawn, and that was only a few scraps of dried apple. Not much yesterday, either..."  
  
"Well, that's what ails you, I'd reckon!" the lad retorted. "Now, when you feel up   
to rising, miss, give Bergil your arm – I'll see to that lovely horse of yourn – and he'll take you in to Mistress Berwyn who's got the charge of us, and see what she can rustle up, before anyone moves another step looking for vanished mothers or anything else!"  
  
Mistress Berwyn was all concern, sitting Rowanna down comfortably in the guesthouse's large flagged kitchen and ladling a hearty soup out from the big pot simmering over her fire for the noonday meal.   
  
"Though it's nothing but vegetables, I fear, my lady – meat's very hard to come by since the preparations for siege began, with everything rationed for the soldiery; though of course the boys who can't or won't leave, like Bergil here, won't be let starve either if we can help it. One loaf and two ounces of cheese a day each boy, they've said, a piece of mutton or dried beef when it's to be had, and whatever roots or fruits are to spare – still, we must all make shift, and no doubt the Steward's taken thought for keeping the city fed as long as can be."   
  
Rowanna demolished the bowlful gratefully, tried unsuccessfully to refuse the second bowl Berwyn pressed upon her, and explained again between mouthfuls what she had come for; Berwyn's interest was caught, and she named several streets and houses she thought Bergil should add to the route of their search. Only when she was fully satisfied that Rowanna was recovered did she allow them to set out, with stern admonitions to Bergil to be back within doors by sundown. The lad who knew his horseflesh – Iorhael by name, Rowanna discovered – had meanwhile offered to walk Gelion up to the Steward's stables below the Citadel, before his presence was remarked on.  
  
"Don't worry about him, miss, my Da will look after him – he'll keep him from being sent out to Osgiliath, tell them he's stiff and needs resting or something; that'll work for a few days at least. Good luck, miss!"  
  
So Rowanna and Bergil set out, working their way upwards through the endless stony streets of the City. There was, Rowanna discovered, no very straight way to climb to the upper Circles, since each Circle was walled with but one gate to the next, offset from each other to make any attacker's task the harder.  
  
"Pardon my asking, my lady," said Bergil as they wound steadily higher, "but – what makes you so sure that your mother is yet within the walls? The Steward's ordered all women and children to the Southlands, as you know, and the families from the upper Circles were early out – they could afford to hire wagons or horses, and most left their servants to shut up the houses and went yesterday, or even the day before. Won't your lady mother be gone with your kin?"  
  
"We've little kin left, Bergil, from what I remember," Rowanna sighed. "Mother hadn't brothers or sisters, and my grandparents are both long dead, of the plague I think, before I was born; Mother just had a few cousins still in the City, I believe. And you're right, in all good sense she should be gone by now – but my mother has a way of refusing to do what's sensible if she takes against it! And, I don't know how, but now that I'm here in the City, I'm certain she's still here too. I can feel it..." _Somewhere in all this great weight of white stone, in these empty streets, behind one of these dusty doors..._  
  
For dusty the City was, and empty too. In the lower Circles they had passed people still hurrying down to the Gate with children, or hobbling along assisted by younger neighbours; but as Bergil said, above the Fourth Circle everyone seemed gone, and the silence was eerie. After the ninth hour or so their way lay mostly in shadow: yet whenever Rowanna raised her eyes to the upper storeys around her, the sunlight still falling on the white stone burned bright, blinding her and making her dizzy again; the heights of the Citadel loomed like a great wave of stone frozen in mid-air, ready to break over her and drown her under its long centuries of watchfulness. _I can barely breathe! I begin to understand why when Mother had made us a home in the great open grasslands of the Riddermark, she was reluctant to come back..._  
  
They worked their way along Herald Street, then Eagle Way, following a mixture of Berwyn's advice and Bergil's nose, but with little to go on. Most of the postern-gates at which they knocked were shut fast; occasionally one yielded to a push, revealing a courtyard but lately deserted - to judge by the troughs of flowers yet blooming, and the occasional watering-cans or children's hobby-horses still scattered about - and yet no answer came as they called out. More and more as they climbed, however, the houses had a forlorn, long-abandoned look: doors hung off hinges, ivy obscured gateways; here and there small trees had even taken root atop walls, roots worming out through the mortar. _That would make Legolas smile!_ Rowanna thought, and her heart suddenly thumped as the idea jolted her from her task. She shook her head and blinked. _Not now!_  
  
Bergil stretched on tiptoe to examine a crest carved in the stone above one great gateway. "Is that a swan or a seabird atop that nest? Can you see?"  
  
"Swan, I think. Do you recognise it?"  
  
"If it's a swan, then it's probably House Alphirrim – I thought they had one of these big places up on the Fifth. Do you know aught of your family's emblems? It might help – nearly everyone up here has a shield or a badge of some sort over the gate, and you can tell the older clans by how worn the carving is. No-one ever has their shield re-chiselled, my father says, in case they look like one of the upstarts who've only just worked their way up to a coat of arms!" He grinned, and despite her weariness Rowanna managed a tight smile in response.  
  
"Well, in that case I fear Father's family might have let their shield wear away entirely! - Mother always said they had lived on the past glories of their bloodline until they hadn't a deed in living memory worth singing of. But Mother's emblem – I do remember that; it was embossed in very faded gold-leaf on the binding of one of her books. A sun setting in the sea, for the House of the Annúmellyrn..."   
  
Bergil nodded. "Friends of the West. Well, that should be easy enough to spot, if we ever come to the right house!" He reached into the pockets of his jerkin and pulled out a couple of apples – small and wrinkled, but perfectly edible, as Rowanna acknowledged after a bite or two. "Still, the Alphirrim are no good to us, we know that, and that's the last likely house in this street – look, the other gates at the end there are overgrown, you can see the ivy from here. We'd better turn up here, up the..." He stepped back from the walls, craning up to see the street-name carved into the stone; "...Street of the Jewels." Bergil set off again briskly, but Rowanna had not moved.  
  
" _What_ did you say?..."  
  
"Street of the Jewels. Why -" he too stopped dead - "does that mean anything? Do you remember?-"  
  
"That's it. Bergil, that's it! I'm certain I remember that name – and Mother must have had reason to tell it to me!" Rowanna took a shuddering breath. "Let's – let's look..."  
  
One deserted house. Another. A third clearly not worth investigating, given the tree-roots coming through the walls. Her heart began to sink. _If we do not find her now, I am not sure if I can go on..._ "No guessing the emblem on this one," Bergil pointed, "the ivy's covering it – but look, it's been trimmed clear of the gate, not long ago." He tried the heavy iron latch on the postern-gate; it turned easily, and the postern swung open without creaking. "This place was still being lived in, anyway." He stepped through. Rowanna followed, stood still a moment as her eyes adjusted to the courtyard's dimmer light – and then felt it; a great rising wave, powerful as the tides of anxiety and fear that had assaulted her in Rivendell and Rohan, but this time excitement, relief -   
  
_She's here._ "She's here. Bergil, this is it, she's here!"  
  
"How do you -" But Rowanna was not listening; she was across the courtyard, through the inner door and climbing the great wooden staircase, barely looking at the huge faded tapestries hanging below the vaulted ceiling, up through the shafts of sunlight where dust-motes danced, calling;  
  
"Mother? _Módor?_..." She stopped on the first landing, Bergil racing in her wake; listened; called again. From somewhere above came a faint noise. "Mother?..."  
  
Barely a thread of sound in response. "Who's there?..."  
  
"Mother! Mother, it's me, it's Rowanna -" She flung open one door off the next landing, then another – a west-facing room, late-afternoon sunlight filling it so that for a moment the woman lying in the window-seat was only a silhouette, and then Míranna spoke:  
  
"Daughter! My daughter!"


	26. And Starless Night Devour the Sunless Day

"I am _not_ going. I hate to bring you into danger, daughter, and I wish you would ride South – if you can reach Dol Amroth we have kin who would shelter you - "  
  
"As if I would leave again without you! I came all this way to find you - "  
  
" - but I am not leaving."   
  
Night had fallen long since over the City; Rowanna had pulled the shutters closed against the chill, and only then been allowed to take the guard off the small lantern ("for the City's blacked out to any watching eyes from tonight," Bergil had warned them, "Steward's orders.") Twin jars of water and wine stood on the small table by the couch where she and her mother sat curled on the cushions in the flickering light.  
  
For hours she and Míranna had talked, after Bergil had been swiftly packed off to get back to Mistress Berwyn in the Lampwrights' Street before sundown. For the most part, Rowanna had talked at her mother's prompting, since Míranna grew weary and began to cough if she spoke too long; and so her whole tale had been retold, from Rivendell to Rohan and on to the White City.  
  
"But you can't possibly stay here – there's going to be war!" Rowanna protested for the second or third time. "I don't understand how – what was your cousin's name? Adramir? and his family could have left you here in the first place! Alone, when it isn't safe?..."  
  
"It wasn't quite that way, daughter." Míranna sighed and drew the shawl Rowanna had fetched closer around her shoulders. "Adramir has been gone for some months, for he accepted a commission in Prince Imrahil's naval command down in Dol Amroth; I suspect that's where his heart has always been, and that he only keeps up the house here in Minas Tirith for his wife's sake. She insists far too much on rank and place, that lady, and I think she doesn't regard Dol Amroth as quite close enough to the centre of things. Anyway, she didn't want to go to begin with, until there began to be murmurings out of Ithilien that things were looking darker by the day; then some began to take their families south, and Ithildîs decided it was time to take the children away – they have two, a little girl, and a boy of nine. But I was in no hurry to leave; I was only just beginning to feel settled in the City, and a few rumours seemed no reason to uproot. Besides, the thought of riding all the way to Dol Amroth with that woman - " She rolled her eyes, and Rowanna had to smile. "I was quite capable of making shift for myself; I said I would stay, and she couldn't move me."  
  
"That I can imagine!" Rowanna retorted. "But surely you weren't left alone? - servants, in a house like this?..."  
  
"They largely shut the house up," Míranna explained. "The little maid they'd given me, Líriel, stayed with me, and we were content enough – she's a good girl, she looked after me well when I began to feel... weary, a few days ago." She closed her eyes for a moment. "But then the Steward's order came to empty the City, and the poor lass didn't know which way to turn, for her own mother's none too strong and has other children to manage. So in the end I more or less ordered her out - and, well, I said one or two things that let her believe I had other kin coming to take care of me." She gave a low laugh which turned into a cough. "More – foresighted – than I knew!"  
  
"Then doesn't _foresight_ tell you," cried Rowanna in exasperation, "that we need to get you out? I'll get Bergil to help me, at first light tomorrow – I know most of the carriages and the wains will have left but surely we can hire something, or get Bergil's father in the Guard to help us, or – I'll beg someone to give you passage if I must! I don't understand why you're being so _stubborn_..." She felt tears of frustration prick her eyes: then realised, to her amazement, that Míranna was laughing again.  
  
"Oh, daughter... where have I heard that before?" Míranna smiled, and reached out to take Rowanna's hand. "We are of a kind, you and I! Hearken now, and I will try to make it plain." She took a sip of wine, and gestured for Rowanna to refill her goblet; then she gazed for a moment into space, as Rowanna had often seen her do when marshalling her thoughts.  
  
"I have had enough of running, my dear, in truth," she said softly. "All my life, if I did not like what fate seemed to have in store for me, I have turned aside, and gone a different way. When this city was stifling me, years ago, waiting to be decorously married to the most appropriate suitor – I badgered my parents until they accepted your father's suit, and I ran off with him to Rohan. When Mother and Father were dead and then Halemnar was killed, and his kin wrote ever more sternly bidding me back to Minas Tirith, I would have none, and made us a life in Edoras in spite of them. And when Rohan it seemed wanted strangers no more - " she winced a little - "I ran again, back to the City of my birth. Back to the beginning..." She broke off, closing her eyes again, and Rowanna felt a faint stirring of anxiety at the lines of fatigue on her face.   
  
"In any case," Míranna resumed, "there is little point in my trying to flee." Her grey eyes caught and held her daughter's startled gaze. "I should not... jest... about foresight – for like many of our line I have a little." _You are a Dúnadaneth; the women of your line sometimes see with more than the day's eye_ , Rowanna remembered. "And this much I know; the darkness that is rising Eastwards is weighing upon me, and saps my strength in ways I do not understand. From what you tell me, even now the Free Peoples are marshalling to stand against it." She took several slow breaths before she went on. "If their toil is not enough then I think it will make little odds whether I flee to the Southlands or not; for the Darkness will overcome us all, and me perhaps before ever the White City falls." She went on over Rowanna's horrified intake of breath. "But if hope prevails, then Powers willing we may all yet live to walk beneath the Sun...What think you, Rowanna?" Her grey eyes held her daughter's gaze. "The darkness, or the light?"  
  
Rowanna swallowed hard. _She must not lose courage! If the black weight of despair that nearly felled me should fall upon her..._  
  
"Once in Rivendell, when I sorely needed to see the light, an Elf who well knew of what he spoke told me: 'Loyalty, and friendship, and love can be stronger even than the Shadow, if only we do not lose hope...' And he was right, Mother; for all those brought me here in search of you, and all those bind the Company that set out to bring the darkness to an end. We have to believe they will prevail!"  
  
Míranna drew her daughter into her embrace for a moment. "He spoke good sense, this Elf of yours; let us try to hold to it. What was his name?"   
  
"He is not _my_ Elf," Rowanna protested. "His name is Legolas – the one I told you of, who went with the Company."  
  
"He too had known what it is to strive against the Dark?" her mother asked softly.  
  
"More than most," Rowanna said ruefully, "he - "  
  
_Darkness. Darkness unimaginable, haunted by the shades of Men. Bone-numbing chill, and whispers, whispers of the voices of the dead..._  
  
"Rowanna!" Her mother was shaking her by the shoulders, voice sharp with alarm. "Rowanna, are you well? Child, you went white as a sheet! Come now, take a little wine -" She reached to the table, to pour another glass and push it into her daughter's shaking hand.  
  
_What **was** that?_ And yet somewhere within, she knew the answer: _Legolas. I saw what he sees... O you Powers that sing his path to him, keep him safe as he walks it!  
_   
"I'm all right, Mother, I'm sorry. I just - "  
  
"You are no less a daughter of the Dúnedain than I am," her mother sighed. "What did- No," she caught herself, "speak not of it, if you do not wish to; for sometimes dwelling on our fears only gives them greater life, and we shall need all our courage, I think, to play whatever part we can in the coming days."  
  
"Legolas said too that he trusted the Powers knew how the Song would end at last," Rowanna remembered, "even if he was not certain he could fill his part..."  
  
"The Music," her mother said thoughtfully, "is in the hands of those who know its shape as we do not, and yet it seems to me we can choose to play our own parts ill, or well. And so, you see, my dear, truly I cannot flee the city; for if I am to hold out against the darkness, then I must and will believe that Minas Tirith shall stand. Hold fast to hope, and let us see what the morning brings!"  
  
And so, as Rowanna found blankets to make another bed up beside her mother, shuttered the lantern again and lay down, she kept pushing away that chill vision of whispers in the dark, and conjured instead the thought of three torchlit faces set with detemination as they marched on through it: the Man, the Dwarf – and the Elf.  
  
***  
  
As they breakfasted on a little fruit the next morning in the great house's sunlit courtyard, Rowanna began to worry about food: "for the shops and the markets will all be closed down, surely? And Mistress Berwyn told me that everything's rationed. Refusing to flee won't get us far if we're going to starve -"  
  
But she was not the only one with this thought; a few minutes later there was a knock at the postern-gate and the lanky form of Bergil slid through the opening, clutching a covered basket.  
  
"Half a loaf from Mistress Berwyn left over from our breakfast, for she says it'll only go stale if it's left and bread doesn't seem to be running out yet," he announced cheerfully, before remembering his manners and bowing to Míranna. "And better yet, some cheese and dried meat from Targon, the quartermaster of Father's company buttery up at the Citadel – oh, worry not," he added hastily at Rowanna's alarmed expression, "I didn't tell him about you! He just thinks I need feeding up, and once or twice he's let me have a morsel or two."  
  
"Bergil, you are a wonder," Rowanna said gratefully. "I couldn't see how we were going to feed ourselves – we can't claim rations without admitting that we're still in the City, and so disobeying the Steward's edict, which I presume wouldn't be much approved of!"  
  
"I should think not," retorted Bergil, "for the last of the wains are still rolling away – I also came to ask if you wanted me to help you find carriage?.." When told that Míranna had no intention of leaving, he looked at her with even greater respect. "Then I'll do my best to keep finding food for you, my lady, when I'm not claimed for any other service – my father wanted me away to the Southlands, and I wouldn't go either," he added proudly. "Though in truth, I'm a little surprised the gateguards haven't reported Mistress Rowanna's coming in yesterday, or else it was not followed up. No guardsman has come knocking?" They shook their heads. "Well," he added with the air of one well pleased with his knowledge, "the beacons were lit and the errand-riders sent out to beseech aid from Rohan the night before you arrived, so the Steward must have had too much else to occupy his mind..."  
  
_Just as well, perhaps!_ Rowanna reflected, suspecting that a ruler with as tight a grip on his threatened city as Denethor seemed to have might otherwise have shown a passing interest in a lone rider who had somehow managed to get into Minas Tirith from Anórien - and, if anyone but knew it, from far beyond.   
  
Reluctant to risk discovery, she spent the day alternately roaming round the empty rooms of the great house, and returning to the courtyard to sit and talk with Míranna when the faded melancholy within doors grew too much for her. Her mother filled in many of the gaps in her knowledge of the family's recent history: the custom of Gondor that, when her husband had been killed with her own parents already dead, should have seen Míranna returning to Halemnar's family to be disposed of in marriage again ("found new stabling like a riderless horse!" her mother snorted scornfully), and the scandal caused by Míranna's flat refusal to obey the repeated summons couched less and less subtly as time went on. _I remember how sharply Boromir looked at me when he heard Father's name!_ Rowanna recalled with a pang. _Rivendell – how long ago it seems..._  
  
As the shadows lengthened in the courtyard, she thought she heard distant shouts and cheering; running upstairs, she hunted through the bedchambers till she found one which looked down over the City. There was no wind, and the sun was growing dull as though the sky was full of dust; Rowanna peered downwards, but could make out little other than a confused commotion down towards the Gate. I _f it bears on us, we shall doubtless find out sooner or later!_ she told herself, chafing against the temptation to put cloak and hood over her breeches and try to slip down to the Gate unnoticed. Going back down to tell Míranna, she was alarmed to find her mother looking pale, and much wearier than she had seemed in the morning.  
  
"Would you give me your arm upstairs, dearest? I do feel tired..."  
  
"It's this thundery air," Rowanna reassured her, trying to quell a twinge of unease, "it's weighing down upon me too as though a storm were brewing." Slowly they struggled back to her mother's room, resting several times before they reached it and Míranna sank gratefully into her pillows. Rowanna poured water for her and found linen to bathe her head. "Is that any better, Mother?..."  
  
"A little..." Míranna began to cough, and subsided at last into ragged gasps. "I'm – just weary, and this dusty air.... Tomorrow, when the sky's cleared – I'll be much better..."  
  
But on the morrow, the sky had not cleared: long after dawn should have come, a sullen twilight lay over Minas Tirith and would not lift; and Míranna was, if anything, worse.


	27. Over the Land there Lies a Long Shadow

"I think we must try to get her to the Houses," said Bergil earnestly. He had come for the second time that day as the bells were chiming the seventh hour – their clear notes the only way of guessing at time, under the unchanging gloom that now hung above the City – and finding no-one in the courtyard or answering his knock at the great door, had tentatively made his way through the house till he found Rowanna upstairs, hunched anxiously over the bed where her mother tossed and turned restlessly.  
  
"The Houses?" Rowanna went on gently chafing her mother's cold hand as though she could will warmth into her. "Which Houses?"  
  
"The Houses of Healing, up above us on the Sixth Circle. The Healers are very learned; my father says rarely is an ailment seen in Gondor that they cannot cure, or at least ease. They would know what to do!"  
  
"But how on Middle-earth would we get Mother there, Bergil?" The flash of hope which had crossed Rowanna's face faded at once as she chewed her lip. "You can see how it is – even if she were to wake, she could not walk a step, I'm certain."   
  
"We could get a litter," Bergil suggested, "beg one from the Houses, or make one with cloaks and staves if need be – though," he added doubtfully, "I'm not sure you and I could carry her safely, even if some of the boys from Mistress Berwyn's helped; we'll need grown men, which means Guards, really. If I just walk up to the Citadel and ask for help, there'll be all kinds of questions about who you are and how you come to be here. My father would help, though he might be stern about it – but he rode out to the Causeway Forts not an hour since, so he won't be back till sundown; I've just come from the stables - "  
  
"The stables!" Rowanna gasped. "Bergil – was Gelion still there?"  
  
"Yes, don't worry, and being well enough cared for -" He broke off. "You don't mean – surely your lady mother couldn't sit a horse, either?"  
  
"She couldn't ride, that's certain," Rowanna agreed, "but I could carry her before me, for that short distance – Gelion is stronger than he looks, and the streets are good well-paved ground. If you and Iorhael or another of the lads would walk either side in case Mother were to slip, and we went slowly, I think it could be done without injuring her more." She swallowed hard. _After all, Béodred and Dirgon carried me that way for weeks to Rivendell in what must have been much the same state!_  
  
"We'll do it!" Bergil sprang eagerly to his feet. "I'll run down to Lampwright's Street and get Iorhael – no, I'll find his father at the stables first and ask him to saddle Gelion, that'll save time. I'll be back soon!"   
  
By the time they had walked Gelion with painstaking slowness up to the Sixth Circle Rowanna's shoulders and neck were hunched rigid; so tense was she both through trying to ensure her mother's still form did not slide from the horse's back, and waiting for a guardsman or some other official of the City to challenge their unlikely procession. But the only men they saw in the streets were either hurrying on their own business, or huddled in anxious knots on corners gesturing at the uncanny darkness above, and took no notice. When Bergil signalled to her to rein Gelion in, she let out a long, shaky breath she had been unaware she was holding. _Now there is a sight for eyes weary of stone!_  
  
They stood in front of a lush green lawn, the first Rowanna had seen anywhere in the City; its boundaries marked by low hedges, guarded by several stately trees which would, she saw, fill the garden with welcome shade when their winter branches came into spring leaf. In the middle of the garden stood a cluster of white buildings with tiled roofs and many windows, some with little balconies; against the tall townhouses elsewhere in the Circle and the Citadel which towered behind them, they had a homely, welcoming look.  
  
"The Houses of Healing," Bergil confirmed. "I'll find one of the Healers – not the Warden if I can help it, for he may ask awkward questions; if I can get Mistress Ioreth, she'll be too busy talking herself to worry about how you come to be here -" But they had clearly been spotted already, for Gelion was quickly surrounded by willing arms to lift Míranna carefully down onto a litter. Bearing her gently into one of the Houses was easily accomplished, for there were no steps up to the wide open front door, where a tall, thin woman of middle age in a spotless white apron stood to greet them.  
  
"Heavens above, now what have we here? A faint? No broken bones? Well, no bleeding at any rate – I'm afraid we shall have to bear her upstairs, my dear," after Rowanna had managed to get a few words in to describe her mother's condition, "for the halls downstairs are all prepared for men from the battle when it comes, by the Warden's orders, and that'll be no place for her even if I were allowed to take up a bed there. But there's a little room at the end we could use, that's normally where the Warden's clerk sleeps but he's joined the soldiery, and away out at the Causeway Forts -"  
_  
It's Edyth all over again!_ Rowanna thought confusedly as she was ushered into the cool of the House; but just like Edyth, Ioreth seemed to get on with the task in hand even as she talked on, and several calm and competent Healers had soon borne the litter upstairs, installed Míranna on a low bed as comfortably as could be contrived, and sent for the Warden.  
  
To Rowanna's relief the Warden, who clearly had much else on his mind, confined his questioning primarily to matters that might bear upon her mother's condition; the news that Rowanna had but recently returned to the City in search of her mother, found her already weary and weak, and that she had worsened much since yestereve, was all the circumstance he seemed concerned with. "And so she was, of course, too ill to leave the City as the Steward had commanded? Unfortunate," he went on before Rowanna need reply, "but not to be helped now, and indeed the journey South would have done her no good at all. You say she grew worse yesterday evening?"  
  
"She seemed much weaker around sundown," Rowanna confirmed, "and coughed more, as though the very air itself was wearing on her. And – and today, since we woke to this strange twilight, she has not really roused at all, and has been cold and pale as you see her now, for all the heavy heat of the day. I wondered - "  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It – it may sound foolish, but two evenings ago she spoke of the darkness to come, and said she felt it already sapping her strength. And I -" _Should I tell him? But if it can help Mother -_ "Last spring, in Rohan, I – I was struck down by a roaming black horse that was thought to have come out of Mordor, and I lay cold and faint, just as Mother seems now, for many weeks. Do – do you think what ails her is to do with this horrible darkness that is flowing from the East, that has veiled the sky and the sun all day?"  
  
"'Twould be most strange," mused the Warden, "and I know not by what means such a sickness might come about; for although the murk in the air might account for the patient's cough and the ragged breathing you describe, and is already beginning to weigh on the spirits of many in the City, I cannot see why it should make her thus insensible and cold. If it is so, then I fear there are powers at work that we cannot begin to guess at." He frowned. "You say you yourself underwent such a sickness in Rohan, my lady? Might I ask how you were cured?"  
  
"I - " Rowanna closed her eyes. "I was brought back by a great healer, far from here; one with all the wisdom of the Elves at his disposal."  
  
The Warden raised an eyebrow. "That, I fear, madam, we cannot call upon in these our Houses, much though we might have need of it in the days to come. We can but keep your mother as comfortable as may be, and watch for any change. I will have our healers look upon her each hour; call upon them in the meantime if she wakes, for then we will try to feed her a little tonic cordial to warm her innards – and call also if she seems to worsen, or if you have any other fears or needs."  
  
With that he bowed and left them; and a moment later Bergil, who must have been watching from the hallway for his departure, knocked gently at the half-open door to see if there was anything further he could do for Rowanna.  
  
"It's growing ever darker," he said ruefully, " even though there should be hours till sundown yet. If I were showing the City to Master Peregrin the Perian today, he wouldn't get to see very much!"  
  
For a moment Rowanna, who had turned back to her mother, barely registered his chatter; then she turned sharply.  
  
" _Perian?_ Bergil – _what_ did you say?"  
  
"Oh, I am sorry – we were more concerned with Lady Míranna earlier, and I didn't think to tell you all the news from the Citadel and the Gate," the boy explained. "He came down to the house in Lampwrights' Street yesterday afternoon, while the sun was still shining – a perian, a Hobbit he says he is called, from far in the North; he rode in yesterday morning with a great white wizard called Mithrandir, on the finest grey stallion you ever saw!"  
  
"If that was Shadowfax, then it is true, not even the royal stables of Rohan ever saw a finer!" Rowanna replied, still slightly dazed.  
  
"How did – but you know of them, then?" Bergil looked confused.  
  
"Oh, Bergil," Rowanna had to laugh, "it is the longest and strangest tale you ever heard, and I would keep you from Mistress Berwyn's till sundown and long past if you waited to hear it all! But yes – suffice it to say that I know Pippin well, from far in the North as you say, and even Mithrandir a little." _Then Legolas was right – Pippin was safe! And Gandalf is in the thick of things, as usual..._ "But where is Pippin, Bergil? Could you get a message to him for me? I would dearly love to see him!"  
  
"It might take me a while," Bergil said doubtfully, "for Master Peregrin was given a position at once in the Citadel Guard, in Father's company, and is serving the Steward himself, although he's shorter than I am!" He looked wistful for a moment. "He must be a great warrior, must he not, this prince of the _periannath_? Do you truly call him Pippin?"  
  
"I do, for I knew him in happier times," Rowanna sighed. "And in those days he would not have called himself much of a warrior, doughty though he always was; but he has been through many perils since, and what they will have made of him I cannot tell. Will you tell him where I am, and send him greetings from me?"  
  
"Gladly," said Bergil; "I'll go up to the Citadel now and see if any of Father's company are there and can tell me where Master Peregrin is, and when he might be at leisure."  
  
"Oh, and Bergil -" he turned in the doorway - "I have been thinking... Iorhael said that all horses had been requisitioned for the errand-riders, didn't he? Are they – do you know, are they short of mounts?"  
  
"Very, I think," he grimaced. "Minas Tirith has never had many beasts within the walls, and a few have been lost already out in Ithilien, to Haradric bowmen and the like."  
  
"Then - " she swallowed hard - "would you send a message to Iorhael's father to lend Gelion to whatever rider is in most need? He is very swift, tell him, and biddable, but hardier than he looks." She bit her lip. "He has been a good friend to me, but he was lent me by those who would well understand the City's need of him now, and who would give any aid they could against the Dark Lord; I know they would not grudge him."  
  
"I'll do it," Bergil nodded his approval. "Till later, then!" and he sketched a quick bow and was gone.  
  
The afternoon wore away with little change; the Healers came and went, one of them bringing a boy with a little food and water, and urging Rowanna to eat, "for those of us charged with caring for the sick must keep up our own strength as we can for our task." Míranna neither woke, nor stirred from her deep cold faint. From time to time Rowanna looked through the window, but the uncanny darkness seemed only to grow, and the room was grey and drear; she was given permission to light a candle, as long as she closed the shutters when she heard the sundown-bells. So she forced herself to listen carefully for the chiming of the hours; she had long heard the tenth hour, and was beginning to expect the eleventh, when she heard soft footfalls in the corridor and a light tap at the door. Expecting the Healers again, she bid them enter – then gave a cry of delight as, instead, a curly head and a considerably shorter figure appeared.  
  
"Pippin! Bergil got my message to you, then? Oh, how glad I am to see you!" She jumped up, then got down on one knee instead to embrace him, the embroidery of the White Tree and the mailed hauberk beneath it feeling strange beneath her hands. "You're all right? When did you last see the others?"  
  
"I can't stop for long," the Hobbit began as he seated himself on the low stool she offered him. "Bergil told me your mother is sick, I'm sorry – is there any change?"   
  
"None that I can see," Rowanna sighed. "It has been a long and weary day of waiting – what news can you tell to cheer me, Pippin?"  
  
"Well, I'll have to try to be brief, or I'll never get through it all! Merry was well when I last saw him – we had all sorts of adventures with the Ents in Fangorn Forest and at Isengard, but I left him in Rohan after – well, never mind that now. Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas were with King Théoden on the way back from a huge battle somewhere called Helm's Deep – they won that one, against all Saruman's orcs, though Gandalf and the Huorns helped of course, and – oh!" He broke off, and Rowanna caught her breath during the welcome pause. "Of course – what an idiot I am! He must have meant you – but how did he know?..."  
  
"Who, Pippin? Know what?"  
  
"Legolas," said Pippin wonderingly. "When Gandalf and I rode off from Dol Baran in the middle of the night, and Gandalf wouldn't say where we were going or why, Legolas said something very strange about 'meeting a friend of us both at your journey's end,' and asked me to bear a message to her from him. He meant you – he must have done! Though I still don't understand – did he know you were here?"  
  
"He knew I meant to try and get here, for I saw him in Edoras just before he and Gimli and Aragorn rode out with Théoden King to go to the Fords of Isen," Rowanna exclaimed. "Pippin, please – what was the message? What did he say?"  
  
"He asked me to tell you -" Pippin closed his eyes and thought - "' _that I think of her in peril and in peace, that she should not lose hope, and that we may yet meet again beyond the darkness.'_ It was a very Elvish thing to say, wasn't it? Don't you often feel as though Elves know an awful lot more than they will admit to, and then when they will tell you anything, they talk in riddles? Rather like Gandalf, really..."  
  
"Oh yes, Pippin," Rowanna smiled. "I know exactly what you mean. But let us hope that particular riddle will read itself aright, for I should dearly love to see Legolas again!"  
  
"And this horrible darkness to be over," the Hobbit agreed. "If we ever all get to sit together again and tell all the tales of our wanderings, it will be a fine day indeed!" Below in the City the bells began to chime, and he jumped to his feet. "Forgive me – I can't linger, for that's the eleventh hour, and if I don't get to the buttery and find something to eat before I am summoned back to the Lord Denethor then my stomach will tie itself in knots!" He embraced Rowanna quickly. "I am so glad you are here – it is good to see any friend in this gloomy city, though I am sorry to find you in the Houses. May your mother soon be well – I'll come again, or send word by Bergil, when I can."  
  
"Indeed I am honoured that you wanted to find me even more urgently than to eat! Go safely, Pippin," Rowanna said as his bare feet pattered hastily back down the hallway.  
  
She was about to close the door behind him, but thought better of it, for the air had grown still more oppressive and it began to seem hard to breathe. Wanting to catch whatever breeze there might be before the sundown-bells forced her to close the shutters, she opened the window as wide as it would go and leant out. The black clouds overhead loured more heavily than ever, and she realised that her head had begun to thump painfully. _I haven't felt like this since that day in Rivendell, just before Frodo and the others were rescued,_ she remembered, _that horrible moment when -_  
  
It came, at the same instant as the memory; the hideous, venomous screech that chilled her blood and sent her reeling back against the wall, covering her ears. Behind her in the bed her mother stirred and moaned faintly. _They're here – already? Oh please, no, make it stop -_ Another cry, and then the distant high note of a horn; the screech again. Rowanna forced herself to the window, just in time to catch in the gloom of the Pelennor below a flash of white light. Then all was still.  
  
She staggered back to the stool by the bed and sat, trembling, beside Míranna. High feverish spots of colour were burning on her mother's cheeks, though she still felt cold to the touch. At last, Rowanna heaved a shaky sigh, managed to get to her feet, and set off in search of a Healer.  
  
In the entrance-hall of the House she found - not commotion, the House was too calmly run for that, but swift activity. "Two of the Lord Faramir's company are coming wounded off the field," one of the errand-lads told her as he caught his breath. "You heard those horrible screams?" Rowanna nodded mutely. "Those – things – attacked them as they rode back from the Forts; how they escaped I don't know! Someone said it was the White Rider, that wizard - " _Gandalf!_ Rowanna remembered the flash of light. _Thank the Powers – he would beat them off, if any could!_ "They say the war's really coming, now," the boy said, caught between excitement and fear. "But our Captain Faramir will save us -" He broke off as cheering and shouts carried to the hallway from the street. "They're coming up to the Citadel! I must go and see - " He dashed off, leaving Rowanna to find a Healer who was not needed for the injured riders and could come to Míranna.  
  
When the Healer had felt Míranna's pulse and brow, tried to trickle a little willowbark infusion between her lips, and departed shaking her head, Rowanna got up and closed the shutters mechanically. She took up her station once more by her mother's side, held her hand, and tried to talk of inconsequential things, in case Míranna could hear her; but she trailed off into silence at last. The city bells told the hours one by one; Rowanna gazed unseeing into the steady flame where the candle still held the shadows back a little.  
  
_Do not lose hope; for we may yet meet again beyond the darkness._


	28. The Dead Watch the Road that Leads to the Sea

Legolas sat cross-legged alongside the hunched shape of Gimli beneath his blanket, listening to the night. From time to time voices murmured around him, Aragorn's softly among them. The few small fires the Grey Company had lit only deepened the surrounding darkness, so that even he felt rather than saw the Stone of Erech at the edge of their encampment, a looming presence of – menace? No, not even that, he thought – of such age that the fears and passions of these Men and even of Elves were of utter indifference to it.

_The Dúnedain look on it with awe, for they say that it came out of Númenor itself; and yet we huddle at its foot, for better the Stone than what lurks beyond it!_ To him, the army of shadow which stretched down the hill on all sides was a thing of wonder and utter strangeness, rather than of terror; but Legolas had been enough among mortals in recent months to sense, to smell, the fear coming off these most fearless of Men.

He heard beasts shifting unhappily from hoof to hoof, the Rangers attempting to soothe their mounts in gentle tones which yet betrayed an uneasy edge. _Were it not for the one who leads us, I think even this Grey Company would break and flee!_ he reflected. _All those long hours under the mountain; and that darkness. Blacker than any night, blacker even than Moria..._ As their march went on, and on, he had felt it pressing ever heavier upon him, weighing on his chest, taking his breath, sapping his limbs. _Gimli asked me after we reached here, as we were rubbing Arod down and he thought none other could hear, whether I truly did not fear this Army of the Dead, and I could answer truly that the shades of Men did not frighten me; well for my pride that he asked no more about that endless journey into dark. Never was I gladder to feel the wind on my face than when we at last breathed the air of Morthond Vale!_

One shadow detached itself from the little group on the far side of the nearest fire and approached silently. Legolas shifted a little further from Gimli's sleeping form, making room.

"Aragorn."

The other folded himself compactly down at the Elf's side, knees drawn up to his chest. For an instant the fire crackled and flared, showing a face where bone-deep weariness met stony determination.

"Gimli sleeps?"

Legolas nodded. "Aye. I am certain for a time he feigned it, not wanting me to see how these chill shades trouble him. But now he snores." At that very moment the Dwarf obliged with a great shuddering snort, and neither Man nor Elf could suppress a muted chuckle.

"It is well," Aragorn sighed. "Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that I will need all the tireless endurance that Dúnadan or Elf or hardy Dwarf can muster." They sat in silence a long moment: the fire hissed; harness chinked as one or other of the horses moved.

"Legolas..." The Elf waited. "You know whither we go, at first light?"

"You spoke, to the dead host, of Pelargir upon Anduin. It is but a name, to me. Pelargir: where, I would guess, the Seeing-stone of Orthanc showed you some great peril bearing on our quest, and which only the Armies of the Dead will rout."

"Keen are yet the eyes of the Elves," Aragorn said dryly. "Great peril indeed; for in the palantir, as you surmise, I saw black ships of Umbar. The fleet of the Haradrim, ready to Sauron's bidding; be that to sail on Minas Tirith, or simply to starve her of her reinforcements from the Southlands and thus to doom her by default. Whichever it be, we must thwart it, or all is lost before ever we reach the White City."

"A great black fleet..." Legolas tailed off in a whisper.

"Legolas..." Aragorn faced him squarely, and the Elf heard the tautness in his voice. "Pelargir is a great harbour, but it lies not on the coast; it is some leagues upriver from the mouths of broad Anduin. If all falls out as we think, we will not come to the Sea."

"The Sea..." Legolas let out one long, ragged breath. "And if it were otherwise; if you knew that we rode to the very shores of the ocean, would you still ask it of me?"

In the faint firelight, the grim lines etching Aragorn's face showed for an instant every day of his fourscore years; but he did not flinch.

"Yes." He waited.

"Good. Because for you and for all I yet hope for Middle-earth, I would still go."

Aragorn reached to grasp the Elf's shoulder wordlessly. With a spitting sound the firelight flared again, and Legolas thought he saw something glitter on the Heir of Isildur's cheek. Leather creaked and Aragorn grunted softly as he uncoiled his long legs and rose to his feet.

" _Hannon le,_ _mellon nin_ . Rest now, if rest you can. We ride at dawn."

Legolas stretched out near Gimli, wrapping his borrowed cloak about him as if he could shut out thought with the cold of the night. The sky above was utterly, unfathomably black; _does even Elbereth desert us?_ Unable to find solace in the stars, he tried to drift into waking dream, but could not escape Galadriel's words, beating ominously in his head:

" _If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,_

_Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more."_

Shifting uneasily on the hard ground, he tried instead to force his conscious mind to dwell on some source of comfort. But thoughts of the Greenwood slid treacherously from memories of clean breeze and starlight to hearing in his mind's ear the screeches of Orcs, and smelling the stench of hideous burning; trying to remember inconsequential things only led him from foolish Hobbit jokes to images of Sam and Frodo on a death march into a hopeless grey wasteland. One face above all he longed to conjure up for solace, but dreaded what imagination might twist it to; _who knows what black armies might have stood between her and the White City?_ Yet somehow, he found, his dark fears could not withstand the memory of a familiar head thrown back in delight, hair streaming away in the wind while a throaty laugh poured out the promise of joy. _In peril and in peace, indeed. And may we endure to see what lies beyond the darkness!_

He lay listening to Gimli breathe, remembering, and waited for the dawn.

*******

**Author's Note:**

Chronologically speaking, this chapter should come halfway through Chapter 26; the night when the Grey Company camps at the Stone of Erech is March 8th, at the end of the day on which Rowanna finds her mother.


	29. Till the Dark Lord Lifts His Hand

_So, they are coming_. Rowanna gazed out at the pinpricks of light dotting the darkened Pelennor, and shivered. _Every time I look, they have multiplied like flies..._ At first she had thought the distant fires might belong to companies guarding the out-walls; but then Pippin, coming to see how she fared after a night spent cold and sleepless watching from the eastern wall, had brought her a grimmer explanation.  
  
"The Rammas is breached," he said anxiously, "did you hear those rumbles like thunder just after the day-bells? Beregond says the Enemy blew great holes in it with blasting-fire, and there are black companies coming pouring through like water. Gandalf is out there, somewhere, but there's no news of him nor of Faramir who was trying to hold the Causeway Forts..." He swallowed. "And you? There is no change in Lady Míranna?"  
  
Rowanna shook her head. "She is – so far away, Pippin, and so cold. Were it not that I hold that little polished metal mirror to her lips from time to time and see it cloud, I could not be certain even that she still breathes." She tried to keep her voice steady over the tightening of her throat. "I think I must have been like this, when Béodred and Dirgon brought me to Rivendell all that time ago; and only Master Elrond knew how to bring me back. Without him, I don't think anything is to be done but wait, and-and hope..."  
  
"I think that is all any in the City are doing," the Hobbit agreed ruefully, "hoping for Faramir, for the coming of Rohan, for they know not what." He bit his lip. "It may not be long before the Healers need all those bandages you've been making."  
  
For the last two days, while she watched over her mother's slow sinking into the dark, Rowanna's hands had been hard at work; she had been more than grateful for the steady activity, tearing linen into long strips and neatly rolling them, which prevented her endlessly pacing the room until she felt she would run mad. Mistress Ioreth had put her to work: "for every hand in the Houses that can be spared and isn't needed for more skilled tasks is turned to such as this, my dear, by the Warden's order. We are well provisioned enough in the normal run of things; but what we'll need in the days to come none can say. The herbmaster's had any lad who knows his plants out scouring every courtyard in the City for poppyseed or nettle, we've every straw pallet that can be found laid out in the halls below, and linen called in from all over for bandages." She sighed. "Whether 'twill be enough who knows; but at least it'll not be said that those black devils find us unreadied for lack of effort!"  
  
On her occasional forays into the corridors in search of healers to look to Míranna, Rowanna had gradually come to realise how much larger the Houses were than their homely outward appearance had first shown them; there were large dormitories and smaller side-rooms, kitchens, laundries and linen-rooms, storerooms of all kinds. Where much of the City on her wanderings with Bergil had seemed deserted, the Houses were peopled, busy, preparing; another thought which made her shiver, when she dwelt upon what it meant. _Many, many wounded. To say nothing of those who might be beyond help..._  
  
So she worked mechanically, all the while watching Míranna's bloodless face and trying to hear her breathing; much of the time she talked softly, both to fill the endless silence and because the Healers urged it, saying that one in so deep a faint could sometimes hear and be roused by a known voice even when they seemed insensible to all about them. She told her mother tales of Rivendell, of her journey southwards, of the Company; although she took care not to name their quest, not here, with the Enemy barely furlongs from the gates.   
  
"Rivendell would bring balm to the most troubled soul; there was beauty everywhere, in the house and in the woods, and of course Elves fairer than any mortal face you ever saw. I wish you could have seen the Lady Arwen; to look upon her truly was as though you saw starlight itself, and she is as kind as she is beautiful. She sat for hours by my bedside when I lay there as lost and as cold as you seem now, and she sang to me; after I awoke I heard her voice, and I remembered the song..."   
  
Rowanna began to laugh, then choked on a sob. "I cannot sing you to health again with my crow's-caw, that's certain! Oh, Mother, I wish Arwen were here, and Master Elrond! And – and Legolas. He was nearly the only Elf in Rivendell, except for Elrond and Arwen and the twins, who did not treat me as some sort of sickly child to be pitied – although even he made his mistakes!" She smiled. "I told you about all that business with Caradhras, did I not? But I didn't tell you what happened later: just before he and Aragorn and Gimli rode out with King Théoden from Edoras, and he found out that I was planning to set off down the West-road, and instead of trying to stop me he let me go..." She fell silent, remembering.  
  
_More than let me go; he wrapped me in his cloak, and gave me his blessing._ If she closed her eyes she was back beneath the eaves of the houses in Edoras, feeling his kiss upon her brow. The grey cloak lay over the back of her chair; on impulse, she pulled it around her as though she could draw comfort from the warmth of its folds.  
  
_I think of you in peril and in peace. Do not lose hope..._ She came back ever and again to the message Pippin had faithfully relayed; for as the hours and days grew steadily darker, it did indeed seem as though hope was all that was left to the remnant of Gondor which watched the hordes draw nearer.   
  
_And hope is all I can do for Mother; that too I know, though I am not sure how._ Oddly, even as the mood in the City grew more anxious, Rowanna found herself increasingly filled with a strange calm. _I think all that time in the company of Elves must be rubbing off; what was it Legolas once said? "I trust that the Powers know how the Song will end at last, whatever the part I play in making it so." Well, there may seem no reason to hope; but does not hope go beyond reason? Then I shall choose to hope, since it seems to be all I can do to influence my fate – or yours, Mother._  
  
Rowanna shifted in her chair, then stood up and stretched her stiffening limbs; as she did so, she half-turned towards the window – then stopped dead, feeling her stomach lurch.   
  
"Oh, Mother, they're everywhere," she whispered, gazing horrified at the rivers of flame now flowing from every direction towards the city walls. "They must be burning every barn and house and tree. Poor Lord Faramir - I hope Mithrandir can offer him some aid, or surely his company is lost!" She took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. "They will come, Mother. Théoden King, and the Chieftain, and Legolas. They will come for us."  
  
Pausing to bend over her mother and smooth the hair back over Míranna's brow, she took her latest basket of bandages and set off towards the storeroom where she had been asked to leave them. She was halfway down the central staircase when she heard the shouts outside and the rumbling of cartwheels; then suddenly feet were hurrying all about her as Healers and stretcher-bearers appeared from all directions.   
  
"You, boy, run for the Warden," Rowanna heard one of the women call, "tell him there are injured men come in from the Causeway Forts; we need him at once. Then get to the kitchen and make sure they have water on – and find Master Linhir and tell him poppy syrup." She grimaced. "Plenty of it."  
  
Reluctant to cross the hall and risk getting in the way, Rowanna stood frozen to the spot. Slowly, carefully, the first stretchers were carried in, and she swallowed hard. Any rider of Rohan saw broken limbs, plenty of bruising among the more reckless lads, the occasional dislocated shoulder, but this... She had to look away.  
  
"Now it begins in earnest," a voice said softly behind her, and she turned to find a grim-faced Healer above her on the stair. "And these are only the more lightly wounded; those they thought could be saved. They are saying - " He choked off. "They are saying that the Lord Faramir slew by his own hand those too sore hurt to be moved, rather than leave them alive for the Enemy."   
  
Rowanna nearly turned and fled; _but if they can hold fast for those who need them, so can you,_ she told herself through gritted teeth. She waited till there was clear passage across the hall to the storeroom, left her bandages in exchange for yet more linen, and forced herself to walk with a steady tread back to Míranna's room.  
  
  
***  
  
Pippin came again in the late afternoon, released for a while from the service of the Steward, for Denethor was with his captains making some urgent plan.   
  
"Have you eaten anything today?" he demanded, dropping a small sack from his shoulder. "No, I thought as much," when Rowanna admitted she was far from sure what day or time it was, let alone when she should have eaten. "Here's a bit of bread and cheese – pretty hard, both of them, I'm afraid, but better than letting yourself starve to death. And a flagon of small beer, look. Beregond is right – hardships and adventures make you appreciate how important it is to eat while there's food to be had!" He broke the bread, hacked at the cheese with his knife, and passed her half of both.  
  
"It's getting worse, isn't it?" he added uneasily, seeing Rowanna's gaze keep returning to the window. "Not that you can see anything at all out there now, it's grown so dark. But the torches get closer and closer. Lord Denethor has been waiting all day for news of Faramir, I think, ever since Gandalf came back with the wounded from the Forts this morning; and the longer they wait for tidings, the worse they all fear it will be -"  
  
Pippin broke off as faint shouts and sounds of running came up to the open window. "Something's happening – I'll go and see!" Not many minutes later, he came breathlessly back: "They're coming. The retreat's been sighted; there's a company still in marching order, they say, with horsemen in their rearguard, less than a mile out. Oh, please let them make it!" Rowanna pulled a stool over to the window for the Hobbit and they stood together, straining their eyes into the murk below and listening.

Distant shouts; the rivers of fire in flood now, converging on the ground before the Gate; then, making Rowanna and Pippin cringe even at this great distance, the grating shrieks of the Nazgûl. They covered their ears, turned away, forced themselves to look again. Suddenly a great trumpet-blast rang out, and far below from the walls a shout went up.  
  
"The sortie!" Pippin nearly fell off the stool. "Gandalf and my lord Denethor talked of a sortie – oh, now I see! That must be the Swan Knights that Beregond talked of – Gondor's greatest horsemen – gone to rescue Faramir! Swan Knights, to Faramir!" There was a burst of blinding white light from below, causing more screams from the Nazgûl as they were driven off.   
  
"Gandalf! Gandalf!" the Hobbit yelled. "He's done it again! Hurrah for Gandalf – see, Rowanna, the Enemy's troops are scattering, the Gondorrim turn on them! Gondor, Gondor!"  
  
The trumpet rang out again from the walls, calling the companies back into their orderly retreat to the City as the Haradrim fled. Pippin and Rowanna could just make out the silver and blue banner which Pippin said was the banner of Dol Amroth, bringing up the rear.  
  
"They did it!" Rowanna heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Do you think Faramir is safe?"  
  
"I'll find out soon enough," said Pippin wryly, "for I'm bound to be summoned back to the lord Denethor - I must go in a moment. And the Nazgûl were well and truly routed, weren't they? - they seem to fear the White Rider's fire as nothing else." He fell silent a moment, looking thoughtful. "Rowanna... may I ask you something? You won't think it amiss of me?"  
  
"I can't imagine what you could ask that would offend me, Pippin! Ask..."  
  
"You said, didn't you, that you are sure the Lady Míranna's sickness deepens as the darkness grows, and the Dark Lord's grip tightens?" Rowanna nodded. "And – and it was the touch of the Enemy, Elrond thought, through that black horse of Mordor, that had struck you down and made you sick when you were taken to Rivendell? Well, it's just that – here are the Nazgûl, and the Enemy in force around our walls, and -"   
  
"You wonder, Pippin, that this time, though Mother is stricken, I seem to be hale and well?" The Hobbit nodded, cheeks growing a little pink. "I have been wondering, too. Perhaps, by bringing me back from the darkness that first time, Master Elrond gave me some strength to resist it; yet that cannot be all, for something happened later that proved that, even in Rivendell, darkness and despair could still threaten me." She thought for a moment. "But then ..someone else.. taught me our best weapon against despair; we can choose not to yield to it. When you hear those – things – screeching it feels, does it not, as though the weight and the blackness will go on crushing you forever?" Pippin nodded vigorously. "Well, my one defence is, I think, that I have learnt that they pass." Feeling suddenly very grateful for Pippin's presence, she gave him a fierce swift hug. " 'Loyalty, and friendship, and love can be stronger even than the Shadow, if only we do not lose hope'... Legolas told me that; and we must believe it, Pippin, we _must_. Aragorn, and Gimli, and Legolas will not desert us. They will come."   
  
***  
  
Gimli sat on the deck in the bows of the greatest ship of Harad's fleet, whetting his axe. Somewhere in the stern was Aragorn, giving orders, talking to clan chiefs from Lebennin and Ethir or some such names Gimli had only half-caught. The sons of Elrond were off looking to the sick and maltreated among the Haradrim's slaves, and those wounded in the battle for the ships; and taking command of the rest of the fleet were Halbarad and the other lieutenants of the Grey Company. Seamen they were not; but they knew Aragorn's mind, he supposed, and they would find captains enough among the freed folk of Gondor that would know how to bend these great ships to the Heir of Isildur's will.  
  
The Elf, meanwhile, might for all Gimli could tell have turned into one of those trees he was so friendly with. _Or a ship's mast, perhaps! Made of wood, at any rate..._ For Legolas sat neatly balanced on the rail at the very tip of the bows, gazing downriver into the blackness, utterly motionless. Barely a word had he spoken since they had come unscathed through that wild battle for the fleet, followed Aragorn up into the Haradrim's flagship, and thrown themselves down exhausted on the deck. Gimli had gone in search of food, water, had even dug the Elf's cloak from his pack as the night drew in; but Legolas seemed to feel nor hunger nor thirst nor cold, did not move and did not speak. At any other time Gimli would have gone straight to Aragorn; but anything short of life-or-death crisis seemed less urgent than the Man's many current concerns, and so the Dwarf could do little but worry and let be.  
  
Shouts and the clopping of hooves rang out, and turning for a moment to look under the rail Gimli saw a steady stream of horsemen reining in on the quayside. Of course, there had been some messenger brought to Aragorn from – what was the Man's name? - Angbor of Lamedon, that was it, promising horses. Well, it seemed they had arrived. He gave a small satisfied nod, and turned his attention back to his axe.  
  
"The edge on this was almost gone by the time we'd finished," he said conversationally, "not that I grudge it, mind you, breaking the chains of those poor devils. Not many of them that will be fit to fight for Aragorn, loyal folk of Gondor though they be – half-starved, some of them, though I grant you the oarsmen are in better case. Not much point in chaining a slave to a rowing-bench and then having him unfit to pull an oar, I suppose." He worked the whetstone steadily against the edge of his blade, throwing off an occasional spark into the darkness. Around him the timbers of the ship creaked as she rode at anchor on the low tide.   
  
"Gulls, Gimli."  
  
It was so long since Legolas had said anything, and he spoke so softly, that for a moment the Dwarf could not grasp what he had said. "What's that?"  
  
"The gulls. Do not you hear them? I can hear nothing else." The Elf did not turn, nor move an inch, but went on gazing out over the water. "I wonder what they see, up there, and what we look like to them. I wonder what they think of..."  
  
"I can get no sense from you," Gimli grumbled. "Not a word have you spoken since we came down to Pelargir, not even to Arod, and now you talk gibberish. The shades of ten thousand dead Men trouble you not at all, and yet the cries of a few gulls have you moonstruck and gazing down the river as though you were blind and deaf! Elvish nonsense of some sort, no doubt. Well, if you will say nothing and let me do nothing, I'm for what rest I can snatch, below out of the wind where it's a little warmer, for I daresay Aragorn will have us up at the first hint of dawn. For pity's sake don't fall over that rail in your dreaming, that's all I can say. Good night, Elf." With a final grunt he stumped down the companion-way, leaving Legolas silent, gazing out into the blackness.  
  
*******  
  
**Author's Note:**

The idea that Faramir would end the lives of wounded men himself rather than leave them to torture at the hands of Sauron's forces originated (as far as I know) in Chapter 4 of Isabeau of Greenlea's _[Captain my Captain](http://www.tolkienfanfiction.com/Story_Read_Head.php?STid=663)_ , and I found it too powerful and moving not to steal it shamelessly here.


	30. Death in the Morning and at Day's Ending

_This is all a dream_. Rowanna shook her head to clear it, paced to and fro a little in the small room, and with a shiver returned to sit by Míranna once more. _It cannot be real; soon I shall wake up, and be in Mother's house on the Fifth Circle, or back in my room in Rivendell..._  
  
The Houses of Healing floated in an eerie quiet above the besieged city. All was still; far below in the darkness fires were burning, and if Rowanna opened the window there were distant shouts, rumbles like faint thunder, and always in the distance the grating shrieks of the Nazgûl. On the outer wall and in the First Circle, they said, there was frantic activity in defence of Minas Tirith; yet here at its summit, the City was frozen, seeming barely to breathe just as Míranna hovered between life and death.  
  
"But – if there's battle below, then where are the wounded?" Rowanna had asked one of the Healers in the hallway. The young woman had been as puzzled as she, until the grizzled one-legged sergeant who had been put in charge of the Houses' defence had overheard them as he hobbled past on his crutch.  
  
"Siege warfare," he grunted, and then as they looked blank, "We're besieged, not fighting open battle. All our men are within the walls or on 'em, and can't do more than look on those dark devils and try to get a bowshot off. If they break through you'll have wounded enough – for the few hours it'll take 'em to fight their way up here." And he limped on without a backward glance, down the staircase to check on the makeshift barricades he had ordered prepared in front of the Houses. Rowanna and the young Healer had looked at each other with shocked, widened eyes, and then grimaced and gone about their tasks, for what else was there to do? But as the hours went by and no more than a trickle of wounded came in – men burned trying to put out the fires which the Enemy's flaming catapults were starting in the First Circle, a few limbs crushed by the falling roofs of damaged buildings – Rowanna could see the same thought behind the Healers' eyes that whispered insidiously to her: _If the defence is broken... all here are trapped. Even if there is some way out - on to the mountain – how can we move the wounded? The Enemy would rise up the circles of the City like a black tide, until..._  
  
Despite the Warden's stern injunctions to give no credence to rumour and to get on with work, speculation and whispered messages flew around the Houses like wildfire, growing steadily grimmer as the helpless dark hours passed. The Lord Faramir was dying. He was dead. The Lord Steward was dead too – no, he had lost his mind for grief -   
  
With so few injured as yet to tend, one Healer or another was still coming from time to time to look at Míranna, take her pulse, and offer Rowanna whatever comfort they could. Hearing one of the daybells in the mid-morning, Rowanna had wandered a short way along the corridor to see who might be on their way, when a rising shriek of anguish from below froze her to the spot. Wishing she had never heard, and yet feeling that not to know would be even worse, she crept to the head of the stairs to look down into the hall.  
  
One of the young women who, Rowanna thought, worked in the Houses' laundry was sobbing hysterically, the Warden and two of his aides struggling to restrain her as she beat her fists against the wall till they bled, screaming incoherently. Another laundry-maid, her grey apron awry and her dark curls slipping from their kerchief, backed away up the stairs with her shaking hands pressed to her mouth and collided with the horrified Rowanna.  
  
"What is it? What is wrong?"  
  
"Oh, mistress -" the girl was trembling so hard she could barely speak, and Rowanna tried to steady her - "oh, mistress, it's poor Morwenna; she slipped away at the end of her shift to go down to the lower circles, to try to get word of her Hamdír who was with the rearguard out at Osgiliath. Of course she shouldn't o' done it, but the poor thing was desperate, and talked one of the lads who's all hot head and no sense into going with her. They got nearly to the First Circle, and – and then..." She took a sobbed breath. "It's not rocks those foul creatures are firing over the walls with those catapults, mistress; it – it's heads. The severed heads of all those brave souls who were on the out-walls and beyond, and were hewn like so much kindling. Morwenna found Hamdír's head, his poor brow all branded with a horrible red Eye, and... and... I think she has lost her mind..."  
  
_Cruelty beyond measure_. Somehow, Rowanna had got back to her mother's room without being physically sick, and sat shaking at her bedside. _It is not enough to defeat us, not even to grind the Free Peoples into the dust. They want us not just dead, but mad with the horror and the grief before the end. They feed on our despair..._  
  
"Then do not let them have it." She heard Legolas' voice so clearly in her mind's ear that she gasped. "Stronger than the Shadow; if only we do not lose hope..."  
  
_It's all very well for you to say that_ , she told him in her head. _You had better be coming! For without the Chieftain, what hope do we have?_ But she took a deep breath, felt a little steadier, and reached down to take hold of Míranna's hand.   
  
The hideous night dragged on, and on. Nothing could be made out on the Pelennor far below, save the angry red light of the Enemy's fires. As the last night-hour struck, Rowanna jerked guiltily upright out of an uneasy, exhausted doze, and looked at once towards the bed. Míranna was chalk white, bluish around the lips, and icy cold to the touch. Rowanna reached for her wrist and tried, past the wild thumping of her own heart, to detect a pulse. _Nothing_. She swallowed hard. _Be still!_ Still nothing. Then, just as panic was about to engulf her, she felt something; the barest whisper, so irregular she had to sit for almost a minute before she was certain, but it was there. She heaved a shuddering sigh of relief.  
  
_Would I know?_ The question had been haunting her ever since she had brought Míranna to the Houses, and now it was painfully real. _Would I know from one moment to the next, Mother, whether you had died?_ Her mother's hold on life seemed so tenuous, her spirit so very distant, that Rowanna found it hard to say how she would be sure; yet somehow, she felt, her heart would tell her. _You have not left me yet, I know it, far away though you are. And I will not leave you!_   
  
Wondering whether while she slept anything had changed beyond the confines of the little room, she pushed the shutters open and strained her eyes and ears into the murk. The tumult below came up only as a muted roar, waves on a far seashore; yet she thought it was louder, more urgent than before. While she slept more of the Enemy's huge siege-towers had been brought up against the walls, although beyond the City wall she made out a few of them tumbled in ruins, the humped shapes of huge bodies lying beside them.  
  
The noise from below suddenly grew both louder and more rhythmical, a relentless chant which sounded like a word or name, though Rowanna could not catch it. There was something approaching out of the darkness of the Pelennor; some sort of huge structure, like the siege-towers but lower, longer, a flicker of red light like fire around its forward edge. Long lines of torches flowed on either side of it, and Rowanna felt an icy shiver down her spine; all the malice and hatred of the hordes before the City seemed concentrated into that one black device. It halted before the great gate, half out of her view in the shadow of the wall; the chanting grew and grew until it climaxed in a great boom like a clap of thunder, and for a moment the flames dancing all over the first Circle seemed to blur. Then she understood. _Some kind of huge ram. They're trying to force the Gate._  
  
Wanting to shut the fearful image from her mind, she returned to the bed and took Míranna's hand once more. The sound of the City's doom, though, would not be shut out. Again it came, and again. Míranna's pulse was barely perceptible, and Rowanna tried to force herself to breathe steadily.  
  
Then at last there came a huge, rending crash that shook even the walls of the Houses, and her heart sank into her boots. _That must be it. The Gate is gone_. For long minutes everything was still: no screams of battle, no chanting, no crashing of the ram; the City held its breath, and Rowanna knew her mother's heart had stopped.  
  
Into the stillness came one faint, utterly unexpected sound; a cockcrow. Somewhere in the city, in all that maze of darkened desperate streets, a cockerel was crowing - but for what? She looked up, and gasped aloud.  
  
The whitewashed wall above her mother's bed was glowing rose-gold, faintly at first but then stronger and unmistakable. She leapt up, and looking out saw a band of paler sky spreading from horizon to horizon, beneath the leaden clouds of Mordor's darkness, lightening from palest green to pink to gold; dawn was coming. And it was then, as the slender line of brightness on the wall spread and filled the little room with light, that she heard the horns. A sound so familiar it pierced her heart; the sound of defiance cried clear to the skies, the war-horns of the Mark.  
  
"They have come!"   
  
She fell on her knees beside the bed, chafing Míranna's hands. "Mother, do you hear them? Éomer and Théoden King; the _éoreds_ have come. Do not dare leave us, not now! Can you hear me?..." She paused; and as she squeezed Míranna's hand she felt the faintest of pressures in response. She snatched at her little metal mirror, cursing her own clumsiness as she knocked it to the floor, scrabbling to retrieve it – it clouded. There was no doubt, her mother breathed. She laid her hand lightly on Míranna's chest and felt it rise and fall repeatedly, more surely minute by minute as Rowanna sat there, the tears running freely down her cheeks.  
  
***  
  
How the first hour or two after dawn went she could not have said; the day-bells passed her by, only the growing strength of Míranna's breathing and the increasing colour in her face marking the time. A kindly Healer who had been looking in several times a day hurried by, paused to put her head around the door, and declared herself pleasantly surprised.  
  
"That's a natural sleep, I would say," she reassured Rowanna, "the fever's gone, her pulse is slow still but it's steady, and – do you hear, that nasty dry note in her breathing's changed? It sounds much eased. When I can next come by I'll give you a little essence of hawthorn, to strengthen her heart -"  
  
She broke off at the sound of running feet and calls from the floor below. "Some other poor soul being brought in, by the sound of it – I'd better -" but before she could finish, one of the lads doing errands came racing up the stairs.  
  
"Mistress Narwen! You're wanted, it's my lord Faramir!..."  
  
" _Faramir?_ " Narwen whirled and was gone in a flurry of skirts; the boy paused to catch his breath and gasped out the little he knew to Rowanna. "My lord's out of his senses, he's burning up – I know not what ails him but the guard who brought him in said his father the Lord Steward is dead, and the _perian_ -"  
  
" _Perian?_ " Rowanna caught him by the shoulders and was on the verge of shaking him to get sense out of him, when over his head she saw a small, forlorn figure in Citadel black trudging towards them. "Never mind – go you, quickly, they will have need of you below." As the lad sprinted off again, she dropped to her knee and held out her arms to Pippin. He walked gratefully into her hug, and she felt him tremble for a moment before he mastered himself.  
  
"Is it true? Denethor is dead?..."  
  
"Dead – by his own hand." Pippin swallowed hard as Rowanna gasped. "He- he was going to burn Faramir alive with him, both on the same funeral pyre; he was mad with despair, I think, and certain the City was lost and all Gondor with it -" He took a shuddering breath. "If it weren't for Gandalf, lost it would be. And I can't stay, for he may need me again if I can be of any small use." He was about to turn and go when his eyes strayed to the doorway behind her. "I'm sorry – I almost forgot! Your mother?..."  
  
"Out of danger, for now, I think," Rowanna reassured him quickly. "The Healer says she sleeps and her pulse grows stronger – I will tell you it all another time. Go, and be well." But for all her cheerful tone, she could not help but bite her lip as the little figure trotted away once more; _out into the Powers know what peril, as our fates hang by a thread. Go safely, Pippin!_  
  
When Narwen brought the promised hawthorn a day-bell later, it was with tidings yet grimmer; the Rohirrim had indeed come storming on to the field, and it was said they had slain a great black king of the Enemy's forces, but at terrible cost.  
  
"For their own King - Théoden, is it, they call him? - is dead, fallen under his own steed; and strange and sadder yet, there's a great princess of his line came to the battle in secret, in a knight's gear and armed – did you ever hear the like? - and is sore wounded and being tended below..."  
  
_Éowyn?_ Rowanna's hand flew to her mouth. _Surely, no – but who else could it be? Could she possibly have -_ "Where is the lady, Narwen? Can I see her? Will she live?"  
  
"That, I fear, it's too early to say," the other woman warned. "And no, the lord Warden says he won't have gawpers and gossips getting in his way, and has set a guard to her door while he tends her. Best leave be, and watch over your mother while she yet sleeps." With that she hurried away, leaving Rowanna to shed unexpected tears at the memory of a slender, white figure holding Edoras together against half the world.   
  
_She can't die! She was so fair, and so brave..._ She leant against the window frame, letting the breeze and the sunlight ease her aching eyes and head, too weary to wonder through her tears why all over the City bells were wildly clamouring and trumpets blowing.  
  
***  
  
She sat on the floor with her head against Míranna's bed, and must have dozed a little; for she came to with her mother's blanket rough against her cheek, and her neck cricked and sore. Míranna still slept, her colour improved and her breathing steady, and Rowanna breathed a sigh of grateful relief to the Powers as she got to her feet and stretched her cramped limbs. Pushing the door open, she realised that while she slept, the Houses must have been filling; she could hear a great deal more activity below, and Healers were hurrying up and down the stairs. One came down the corridor towards her, and Rowanna braced herself as she recognised Ioreth.  
  
"It's as Narwen said, then," she observed after she had taken Míranna's pulse and looked her over, "your lady mother's fever's broken, and sleeping is the best thing she can be doing. So I came to ask you, my dear – now that they're bringing so many wounded off the field, we need every hand we can find; even though from what they say the battle's turned, and those black hordes are flying, there'll be many more yet to come in need of help. And since your mother's out of danger, and you could look in on her every hour if you would, I wondered -"  
  
"I'll come." Not waiting for a pause in Ioreth's never-ending stream, Rowanna was already on her feet. "I am no Healer, but I know how to set a bone or put a shoulder back in place, so I might be of some little use; and I don't faint at the sight of blood."   
  
A few hours later, she had nearly belied that last assurance several times.   
  
Fortunately, she had eaten so little in the last few days that when the sight of a middle-aged Southlander with his guts half ripped out of him turned her stomach, she had nothing to vomit up, and only collapsed for a moment retching in a dark corner. Her shirt-tail was torn where she had had need of an emergency bandage: she was covered in men's blood, and her hair under its kerchief was sticky with sweat and dirt. But the wounded kept coming: and so, as the afternoon wore away over the exhausted White City, there was nothing to do, between dashes upstairs to check on her still-sleeping mother, but to go on.  
  
In snatched exchanges with Healers and messenger-lads as they passed, Rowanna tried to make some sense of the chaotic hours. The captains on the field, they said, were getting all the minor wounds they could treated there; a few Healers had been sent down to stitch cuts and set shoulders, and to judge who should be sent up to the Houses and who was beyond help. The battle had been thought all but lost before noon, after the Rohirrim's King was slain, when a fleet of ships had come sailing up to the Harlond, bringing relief from the Southlands, and a great black standard been unfurled that glittered in the sun... Her heart leapt at that: _did they come?_ But there was no time to wonder, and none to ask who knew more.  
  
The Healers were run ragged, and Rowanna helped however and wherever she could. She ran errands, went for bandages, helped heat more water. She did, as she had offered to, help set bones, sticking jagged and ugly from shredded sleeves or torn-off breeches. Along with several of the Healers' lads, she held men down while wounds were stitched, crossbow bolts pulled or – in the grimmest case which saw Rowanna biting her lip almost as hard as the patient bit down on his leather gag – a destroyed leg taken off above the knee. Mercifully the Gondorian captain in that case shortly fainted, the little poppy syrup they could spare to give him less effective than oblivion against his agony.  
  
Around sunset, Ioreth signalled to her from across the hall where they were working endlessly on the streams of wounded, and nodded her head towards a pallet near the door.   
  
"I heard tell you speak that lad's tongue, dear, would that be so?" Rowanna looked across at the great mane of blond hair matted dark with dirt and blood, and nodded. "That's well. I don't think there's much we can do for him, poor soul; they said he'd been trampled by a Mûmak, and though we've set the leg it's my belief he's wounded sorely where we can't see. But he's frightened, and pained, and there's little I can say that will help beyond sounding kindly. Will you sit with him a while and comfort him?"  
  
Rowanna swallowed hard, nodded, and threaded her way carefully between the neat lines of wounded men to the boy – he was no more – propped up a little against the wall.  
  
"How is it with you?" she enquired softly in Rohirric, and the lad's eyes flickered open at the sound.  
  
"Hurts..." His voice was a hoarse thread.  
  
"I know. There isn't as much poppy syrup as they'd like, to go round. Here -" she reached for the pitcher of water on the small stool nearby and poured a beaker to hold to the boy's lips. He swallowed convulsively, then choked a little so that she had to stop; she put the beaker down and sat beside him, taking one filthy, bloodied hand in hers.  
  
"What's your name?" she asked gently.  
  
"Wulfdan..."  
  
"I'm Rowanna." He turned his head a little, painfully, at that, and frowned.   
  
"That doesn't sound – like – an Eorling..."  
  
"It's a long story. But I was brought up in the Eastfold. Whose _éored_ rode you in?" And so she talked on for a while, softly, about the horses and the land they both loved, about anything except the pain and the horrors of the battle that had brought him here, to the pinnacle of a strange city in an unknown land.   
  
His face was chalk-white, and as she sat he paled yet further, bloodless lips bluish and his skin growing chill. She thought he was only half-conscious now, muttering now and again, beads of sweat standing out on his bruised forehead. Before Ioreth made her next round, he suddenly gripped Rowanna's hand painfully, turning on her huge bewildered eyes whose clear blue clouded as she watched.  
  
"Mother! Oh, Mother, I can't breathe – help me!..." A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and with a pained retching gasp, Wulfdan died.  
  
Rowanna closed his eyes carefully, smoothed the sweat-soaked hair back and kissed his brow: _for your mother, since she could not be here for her boy,_ she told him in her thoughts. And then she clenched her jaw against the great wave of weeping that threatened to well up in her chest, and turned away, and went to find the next task to be done.


	31. Life to the Dying in the King's Hand Lying

Lamplight was flickering now on the long rows of straw mattresses and their bruised, bloodied occupants. One of the Houses' stewards was moving from bracket to bracket on the wall carefully lighting the torches; _is the Darkness returned?_ Rowanna thought, in a moment of confused panic, before the fog of weariness cleared. _No, evening is falling, that's all._ The end of that seemingly endless day of chaos and death; and yet not over, for the needs of the wounded never seemed to stop. She had eventually discovered where Éowyn lay carefully bestowed, and on pleading acquaintance, had been allowed to look in upon her, white as her pristine sheets and seemingly lifeless. _And not even her brother to keep vigil – but he must be needed on the field below. Powers grant he is yet alive and hale!_  
  
It was only when she exchanged a few whispered words with Éowyn's Healer that Rowanna had discovered, her heart plummeting, that Merry too had fought the Witch-King, and also taken great hurt. Not for another desperately anxious day-bell had she been able to snatch a few minutes to go in search of him; and when she finally found him, lying ashen-faced and delirious, she could do nothing of any use other than to hug the trembling and miserable Pippin, who refused to leave Merry's bedside, and promise to look in again whenever she could.  
  
"Have you been let off yet, Rowanna?" Narwen caught her elbow as she passed her. "No, I thought not," as Rowanna only looked at her blankly. "We're each to take two hours' rest in turn, by the Warden's order, and sleep if we can – he says we'll be no use to any who need us if we're dropping from fatigue. Go you – the small room at the far end of the north wing's been set aside for us, and there are pallets there."  
   
"Thank you, Narwen." Rowanna shook her head. "I'll go up to Mother's room – I need to watch over her, and if all's well with her I can sleep as well there as anywhere."

She passed Narwen the remaining rolls of bandages from her apron pocket, and left the great hall to trudge along to the staircase. She had hauled herself up the stairs, and was about to turn towards Míranna's chamber, when movement out of one of the side rooms caught her attention; she stopped, stared, and then rubbed her sore and gritty eyes. _I must be dreaming. I'm so tired my mind is playing tricks._  
  
When she opened her eyes again, Aragorn and Elladan were still there.

"Rowanna, my kinswoman!" Not until much later did it occur to Rowanna that the Chieftain had shown no surprise at all at the sight of her; _either Pippin must have told him,_ she then assumed, _or like the rest of us he had not a thought to spare for anything except going on till he dropped..._ Even through the weariness, however, Aragorn managed a faint wry smile.

"Timely met, indeed." He strode forward, Elrond's son hard on his heels. "Elladan and I are in urgent want of one who knows Elrohir by sight – he is down on the Pelennor helping to treat wounded, but we have need of him here. Will you find a messenger for me, describe Elrohir to him, and ask that he be sought on the field without delay?"

"Better than that, Chieftain," Rowanna offered. Suddenly, the thought of escaping the increasingly fetid, overheated Houses, where she had been mewed up for days – even escape to the aftermath of a field of battle – was irresistible. "I'll go for you myself -"  
   
"Not without an armed escort," Elladan broke in. "The day is ours, but there may yet be stray Orcs and Haradrim being rounded up, wounded and dangerous -"

"And trenches, firepits and wreckage besides," Aragorn agreed. "There are guards now at the entrance to the Houses; find their captain and give him my request that one accompany you. Tell Elrohir to lose no time."  
   
Weariness forgotten, Rowanna turned on her heel and clattered down the stairs.  
  
 Arriving at the great front doors of the Houses of Healing just as the hour chimed, she found the captain, as Aragorn had said, supervising his change of guard. He gave a clipped nod at her breathless message.

"Haragond – yes, I know you were due to come off duty for a bell, but this is urgent. For the King -"  
  
 _The King?_ Rowanna frowned, wondering if she had misheard. _The Chieftain, surely –_ But there was no time to argue; Haragond was already stowing his pike and gesturing to her to follow him to the lower Circles.

"I'm sorry to take you from your rest -" she began.  
  
"Oh, fear not, mistress, the Captain knows our grumbling's all for show. Truth be told, most of the Citadel Guard are feeling badly – all the other companies were on the walls or on the Pelennor, now half of them are in the Houses or worse, and we're supposed to stand around doing sentry duty?" He snorted. "Yes, we all know that if the Enemy had stormed the City we'd have died to the last man to hold the Citadel – but thank the Valar, it never came to that. And if what they say is true, my lord Steward is dead and Captain Faramir near it, without an orc ever getting past the Gate – so what use were we? Careful -" he kicked a pile of burning debris aside for her as they turned a corner - "I'm glad to be doing something, don't you fret."  
  
The night was clear and cold; despite the acrid smell of damp ash which lingered everywhere after the day's earlier rain, Rowanna took great glad breaths of the cool air, her heart lifting at the sight of a thousand brilliant stars overhead. As they worked their way down through the City, the way grew more hazardous; roofs were fallen in, timbers across the streets, small fires still burning here and there. Men were labouring to clear the Gate, where only a narrow passage snaked between great heaps of wreckage.  
  
"Have a care, my lady-" Haragond held his torch high to light their way as they headed out on to the Pelennor - "there are pits and trenches all across the field..." There were dark heaps of bodies too; Rowanna shuddered as they skirted one, turning away as a dead white face caught the torchlight. _How many thousands? Of Gondor, Harad, Rohan? Not to mention the Orcs and those... things..._ Bile rose in her throat at the stench as they passed a huge black shape, fallen on its side, and Haragond had to catch her arm as she lost her balance on ground slippery with blood.

The guard hailed various sentries and officers to whom Rowanna described Elrohir as best she could; after several false starts, she was beginning to grow anxious when the sergeant in charge of one small group, directing the pitching of tents, nodded and pointed them a little further out. "See the tent, there, flying the black pennant? Your Elven-lord's close by there, or was a little while back. Fair hands he has on him – he splinted my best bowman's arm and bound it, and the lad swore afterwards he could feel the pain draining out of it before even the bandaging was done."  
   
A little way off from Aragorn's tent a ring of torches had been set in the ground, making a circle of light in which a man sat carefully propped against the remains of a catapult. Next to him knelt a slender figure whose braided black hair, escaping from its leather tie, gleamed in the flickering light.  
  
"Have no fear, my friend, you'll not lose the eye – and with my stitching, you may even 'scape much of a scar!" drawled a familiar voice. "Just some salve now against infection – hold still, this will sting – there, 'tis done." He sat back on his haunches to clean his gear, holding his needle in the flame of the torch for a moment.  
  
"Elrohir?..." Rowanna stepped forward into the torchlit circle, and had the momentary satisfaction of seeing the son of Elrond, as he turned to face her, utterly staggered.  
  
" _Rohiril?..._ What in the name of all Middle-earth are you doing here?" Elrohir leapt to his feet; for an instant she thought he was going to sweep her into an embrace, but he checked himself and offered her instead a comradely clasp of arms. His glance swiftly took in her dishevelled, bloodied state. "And are you hurt?..."

"I'm well enough," she reassured him hastily. "I've been helping in the Houses of Healing – and you're wanted there, in haste, by Elladan and Aragorn. Up on the Sixth Circle of the City -"  
   
"I'll go." Elrohir reached for his pack, quickly stowing a small leather roll which she guessed held his stitching needles. "Will you walk with me?"

She was about to assent when a great wave of fatigue swept over her; she staggered, and would have fallen but for Elrohir's swift arm.  
  
 "On second thoughts, dear horse-lady, you walk no further than that tent," he declared. "Can you wait, my friend?" he enquired of Haragond, who nodded. "That's well. _Rohiril,_ go you and rest a little – Gimli will be glad to see you, though he'll be as loath as any Dwarf ever is to admit to it! Till later -" and with that he dived neatly between the torches and was gone, racing over the ruined Pelennor as easily as if it were the meadows of Rivendell.  
  
Haragond gave her his arm as far as the entrance to the tent, but would not come in, preferring to stay on watch outside. Rowanna ducked her head beneath the flap and slid within.  
  
"Gimli!" The Dwarf was indeed inside, grumbling as he inspected his axe in the light of another torch.  
  
"Only two days since I put the edge back on this, and it's notched in three places – Lass!" Beneath the great mass of braids and beard Rowanna saw a grin spread across his face. "Is it you? This day grows ever stranger! So that mad tale of Legolas' was true?..."

"Legolas?" Her heart leapt. "Gimli, where is he? Is he -"

"Sleeping." The Dwarf grunted, indicating a huddled form towards the back of the tent. "Oh, fear not, you'll not wake him – I doubt all the orcs of Mordor could do that, tonight!"  
  
Despite his assurances, Rowanna eased herself on to the bare ground alongside the motionless figure as softly as she could. Legolas lay curled on his side on a torn brown cloak, head half-pillowed on one arm; so still she had to look twice to be certain he breathed, his normally gleaming hair darkly matted. His tunic sleeve had been hurriedly ripped off at the shoulder so that his upper arm could be roughly bandaged, dark blood showing through.  
  
"Gimli?... His eyes are closed! And his arm – is he all right? Is he badly hurt?"  
  
The Dwarf put down his axe carefully by a bedroll and stumped across to her. "Foolish, isn't it? - months I spent feeling uneasy at the way Elves sleep with eyes wide open, and now they're closed, that feels more unnatural than before! Aragorn says not to fret; Elves do sleep so, when they're utterly spent, too weary to dream. And spent may he well be -"  
  
"Why so?" She reached out towards the injured arm, then drew back, fearing to disturb him.  
  
"He fought like a mad thing, all day." Gimli squatted down beside her. "Oh, I know he can mow down Orcs twice as fast as any of us, at need, but I've never seen him like that; once or twice I caught his eye and I could swear he knew not where he was, or who he was. He was like one possessed. He emptied a full quiver, and he broke the blade on his long knife. Mind, he's been in a strange mood ever since Pelargir..."  
  
"Strange? How, strange? And what happened at Pelargir?"

"Strange? Fey." The Dwarf got to his feet and went to trim the torch-rag. "You know – _Elvish._ " Rowanna suppressed a smile. "Ever since the battle for the fleet on the estuary there. Hasn't talked a word of sense since, just garbled stuff about gulls or some such..."  
  
Something stirred at the back of memory at that, but she was too tired to catch the thought, and let it go. "And his arm?..."  
  
"Oh, never fear for that – it's not much more than a scratch he got watching my back." Gimli grimaced. "He _said_ he never saw it coming, but I've fought with him often enough now to know he has eyes in the back of his head – it's my belief he saw it full well and thought I wouldn't duck the downstroke in time, so he blocked it. Damn fool Elf." The Dwarf turned away, and Rowanna smiled again at his sheepish tone. "You know Elves – there'll probably be nothing to see by the morning, thank Mahal." He stretched, joints cracking loudly. "Well, I'm for sleep – there's nothing I can do for that axe tonight, not without a forge and anvil, it's beyond whetting. Will you rest here a while longer, lass?"  
  
Rowanna shook her head tiredly. "I must get back up to the Houses of Healing, Gimli. There's work yet to be done, and besides, my mother is there – oh, worry not, she sleeps and the Healers say she is past the greatest danger, but I would not leave her too long..." Very carefully, she reached out and brushed an unravelling braid back from Legolas' cheek. He did not stir. "Till the morrow, Gimli. Rest well."  
  
***

Guarded by the watchful Haragond, Rowanna trudged the long and weary way back up to the Sixth Circle without incident. _I should make sure that Elrohir found his way here..._ It did not take long to track down the sons of Elrond; the Houses were agog with the coming of Elves, and the King, and strange tales of miracles being wrought with a few leaves of _athelas._ Reassured, she was returning from reporting to Ioreth when she found herself crossing paths once more with Aragorn.

"You did me good service, and those stricken by the Black Breath who needed all the help we could bring will thank you for it," he remarked, falling into step with her back towards the hall. "Has Mistress Ioreth, in between all her exclamations and explanations, given you leave to rest now?"

"She has," Rowanna sighed with relief. "But first I must go up and make sure all is well with Mother, though Narwen said she sleeps still -"

"Your mother? She is here, in the Houses?" Aragorn stopped short.

"Did you not – no, of course you would not know, there was no time – but that is why I came; by the time I reached the City a few days before Gandalf and Pippin, Mother was already ill, and the coming of the darkness made her worse and worse. We feared for her life -"  
  
He caught her by the shoulders, grey eyes intent. "Show me. Upstairs?" He took the stairs three at a time, Rowanna stumbling to keep up.  
   
Míranna had turned a little on her side, and seemed to be deeply asleep, breathing easily and without fever. Aragorn dropped on to the small stool beside the bed and took her wrists in his hands, never taking his eyes from her as he questioned Rowanna.

 "So her sickness and weakness seemed to grow as the darkness waxed? And the crisis came when?"  
  
 "Just when all seemed lost; before dawn yesterday – was it yesterday? Today? When they broke the Gate with that great ram. Just before the cock crowed, and then all the horns of Rohan sounded, and the sun rose..."  
  
"And she did not worsen as the sun went down tonight, as did the lady Éowyn and Merry and others of those stricken? Her heart did not weaken again?"  
  
"No, I'm certain not." Rowanna shook her head, baffled. "From the moment dawn came, she turned back from the darkness, and the Healers say her pulse and breathing have steadily strengthened since then. Do you think – was it not the Black Breath that ailed her after all? They said that the others who had passed beneath the Shadow were weakening even as the sun westered..."  
  
"They were touched by the evil directly," said Aragorn slowly, "even as you once were before you were taken to Rivendell; their malady was acute. Your mother, it seems to me, felt the shadow growing from much further off, for she had been growing weary and sick for days, perhaps weeks. It is a thing not unknown among women of the Dúnedain; I have seen it before..." He swallowed. "But even as the darkness reached her from afar, so from far off she sensed that it was turning, and she too turned - from despair."  
   
Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment; when he opened them again, Rowanna was startled to see them brimming with tears. Leaning over Míranna, he murmured to her in the Grey Tongue:

_"She gave Hope to the Dúnedain_ _; but you held to hope for yourself."_

He kissed Rowanna's mother solemnly on the brow. Rising to leave, he said softly, "Call me if she has any need. I will be below awhile yet," and saluting Rowanna gravely, ducked under the lintel and was gone. Rowanna found that, without fully understanding why, she too was blinking back tears. She felt she could go on no longer; there could only be a bell or two left before dawn. Rolling up Legolas' grey cloak for a pillow, she curled up on the floor next to Míranna and was instantly asleep.

*******

**Author's Note:**

Aragorn's words to the sleeping Míranna are a variation of Gilraen's last words to him as reported in Appendix A of _LoTR_ : "I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept no hope for myself".


	32. The White Gulls are Crying

Legolas woke to a grey, pre-dawn light filtering through the heavy canvas of Aragorn's tent. Close by he heard breathing which he recognised as the Ranger's – _no, the King's!_ he reminded himself – and unmistakably Dwarven snores. Blinking, he rubbed eyes unused to being sticky with sleep; _it must be years, if not yéni, since I've slept like that._ He winced a little as, pushing himself up into a sitting position, he took all his weight momentarily on his arm; _I'd forgotten that – how did I get it?..._

Frowning, he tried to think back, but discovered that much of the previous day – _I assume it was yesterday!_ was a blur. Sleeping without dreams did that for you, he remembered from previous occasions; you were wont to wake almost as befogged as when you lay down. He flexed the arm experimentally, then cautiously unwound the bandage. As he had hoped, overnight the wound had knitted, scabbed over and then healed; the dried blood came away with the bandage to show little more than faintly pink new skin beneath. He made a fist once or twice, then nodded. _'Twill serve. I could draw bow today, if need be._  
  
But need, it seemed, there was none; the Pelennor lay quiet, and since tents had been pitched and his companions gone to sleep in them, none of which Legolas recalled happening, then clearly the field was theirs. Stepping lightly around the prone bodies – the sons of Elrond as well as Aragorn and Gimli, he noted – he silently unlaced the tent flaps just far enough to slide outside.  
  
He had thought to bathe his face and gritty eyes in the dew, but had reckoned without the effects of several days of siege and battle – lush and green the Pelennor might once have been, but now it was little better than a sea of mud. Through the thick drifts of mist still rising from the ground he glimpsed the wreckage of catapults and rams, piles of corpses smoking where they must have been set alight the previous night, and everywhere ash, blood and bare earth. Legolas grimaced. _Every green and growing thing for miles around. Such a price._  
  
The sky was paling, and a wide band of pink and gold lay above the dark line of the mountains to the east; high white clouds were drifting towards them in a clean breeze. _A good day to begin again_. He stretched luxuriously as a cat, breathing deeply; then craned his neck upwards. High above, a small white curved shape danced on the air, keening a long repeating cry. Legolas gasped as though winded, as simultaneous delight and pain shot through him with the force of a blade – and remembered.  
  
The longing had passed, and he had mastered himself again, by the time stirrings began behind him in the tent. Ducking back through the flaps, he was hailed by Gimli.   
  
"First up, Legolas? Do Elves sleep better with their eyes closed?..."  
  
"I feel new-made, friend Gimli, I assure you." _In more ways than one!_ he thought ruefully.   
  
"How does the arm?"   
  
"Well enough – see." He extended it for inspection. Gimli merely grunted.  
  
"I knew it. I said to Mistress Rowanna last night that by morning you'd barely see it - "  
  
" _Rowanna?_ " Legolas jumped. "Rowanna is here? You've seen her? Where – how was she?..."  
  
"As grimy and weary and bloodied as the rest of us, but from battle's aftermath instead of the battle itself," chimed in Elladan, looking up from rolling his bedding. "She'd been helping in the Houses of Healing, and Aragorn and I sent her down here in the small hours to find Elrohir for us..."  
  
"Why did none of you tell me?" Legolas demanded.  
  
"Firstly, friend Greenleaf," drawled Elrohir with one eyebrow arched, "because you were asleep, and frankly short of the fall of Sauron himself I doubt any news would have roused you. Secondly, because _we_ have only just woken up. And thirdly, because we thought that news of the horse-lady, along with Hobbits and shield-maidens and other unlikely inhabitants of the Houses of Healing, would wait until after breakfast -"  
  
"Peace, Elrohir." Aragorn, stretching long limbs in his turn, made his way to the door of the tent and clapped Legolas on the uninjured shoulder. "Rowanna is indeed to be found in the Houses – asleep herself, I would hope, as she was when I looked in on her and her mother just as I left an hour or two ago. And so are Merry and Pippin, the lady Éowyn and for aught I know Mithrandir too, though somehow I doubt he is sleeping."  
  
"He most certainly is not!" boomed a familiar voice, as the tent-flap was lifted aside by the tip of the wizard's staff. "Well met, friends. Aragorn, you and I must talk -"  
  
"Indeed we must, and others with us. If it please you and Gimli to go up to the City shortly to visit our friends, Legolas, you could do me a service; find the Lord Imrahil and request that he come down to us, with Éomer, as soon as may be."  
  
And so it was that but a short time later - "for there's no breakfast to be had but _lembas_ ," Gimli had pointed out, "and we may as well eat that as we walk -" Elf and Dwarf were picking their way through the wreckage around the Great Gate and upwards into the City's bright morning.  
  
They discharged their commission to Prince Imrahil _– a fair lord indeed!_ thought Legolas, _and a mortal with Elvish blood in his veins! I knew not that such a thing had been outside Master Elrond's line –_ and came at last to the Houses, high above the plain, before the middle morning. Yet clearly they had not been the only ones early abroad; for the steward of the Houses charged with dealing with the long stream of visitors and petitioners at the door made enquiries, and told them that the _periannath_ were both awake, had breakfasted early - "and most heartily!" and were even now taking a turn with their pipeweed in the gardens below. Gimli turned at once in the direction indicated, but Legolas hung back.  
  
"Go you on, Gimli; I would have news first of Rowanna. Give my greeting to Merry and Pippin, and say I will join you in a little while..."  
  
In fact it was sooner than he had hoped when he arrived in the garden, to the Hobbits' cries of delight and enthusiastic waving of pipestems; for on being directed to one Mistress Ioreth for information on Rowanna's whereabouts, he was nearly drowned in a flood of extraneous explanation from which he managed to extract that yes, the lady Rowanna was within, was awake ("but recently, for the poor lady like many here worked her fingers to the bone all night, and I know it was near dawn before she got any rest at all"), but that she was with her mother, who had herself only awakened that morning from a faint or death-sleep that had lasted near a week. "So I know she'll not want to be disturbed, my lord Elf, forgive me – she'd barely had time this morning to find enough water to wash her face and beg a change of clothes from the laundry, when Lady Míranna began to stir, and thus far she's refused to leave her mother while she's waking. Wait you in the gardens, my lord, and I'll let my lady know, when she's ready to see anyone, that you're there..."  
  
And with that, for the time being, Legolas had to be content.  
  
The Hobbits, reunited with Gimli, were in fine fettle, and their cheerful chatter and demands to hear every detail of the Three Hunters' chase across Gondor took care of the rest of the morning; yet Legolas felt oddly detached, as though only half of him were there on the greensward spinning them tales and singing to them of the Sea, while the rest floated bodiless on the high air with the mournful cry of the gulls, watching himself from afar. _I am not what I was! How can I make them understand?.. it **hurts**..._  
  
But in the end even the Hobbits, Merry especially, wearied of talk and prepared to return indoors. "I'm for a smithy, if such a thing is still at work in the City," declared Gimli, "for my axe is notched, and I must have it to an anvil. Come you, Legolas?"  
  
"Not yet awhile." The Elf turned a little on the wall where he sat cross-legged gazing down the Anduin. "I would sit a little longer up here in the wind under this blue sky; you go, and later I will find you."  
  
He was still sitting thus, not very many minutes later, when he felt the change in the air behind him and turned; his heart leapt, and contracted painfully, in the same moment. Rowanna was pale, with great black shadows beneath her eyes. _She's so thin! as Elladan said she was at first all those long months ago in Rivendell, before -_ Then he could no longer hold still, leaping from the wall as she broke into a run and threw her arms around him.  
  
"Legolas! O Legolas, it's so good to see you here and whole! At least – your arm?...  
  
"Mended, as Gimli told you." He pushed up the sleeve of his spare tunic to show her the trace of the scar. "Otherwise, that hug would have had me wincing, I can assure you! Come, tell me your tale, all your news – how fares your mother?..."  
  
He drew her down beside him atop the wall, and they talked and talked as the sun passed its zenith above the glittering river to the south. Her ride from Rohan, his battle at Helm's Deep, her finding of Míranna, the Paths of the Dead -   
  
"Which night was that?" Her eyes widened suddenly. Legolas thought back.   
  
"Six nights ago, if I do not miss my count." Rowanna reckoned on her own fingers, then gasped. "It _was_ you! I knew it was – I was talking late with Mother the evening of the day I found her, and we spoke of you, and – I saw it, I _felt_ it, just for an instant, the darkness and the cold and the endless whispers of the dead..."  
  
"Be glad it was only an instant, then, _mellonen_." He took her hand and turned it over, tracing the lines of her palm as though trying to read the riddle in them. "For they were some of the longest and for Gimli, I fear, the hardest hours that -"  
  
It came again, and he was lost. The wailing cry that danced away down the wind, closer this time in the heights of the City as though he could reach out and grasp it and be borne away on those soaring white wings; _to the sunrise dancing on the waves, the flecks of the foam, the slap of salt water against the bows, ai! Elbereth, I cannot, it hurts..._  
  
The surf was roaring in his ears and the sun glittered on the swell, he was blinded and deafened; but somewhere a faint pressure tugged at him and a familiar voice came insistently from very far off:  
  
"Legolas? Legolas, look at me. _Look at me!_ "  
  
The voice would not let him go; he struggled, concentrated, and a face he knew and which went with the voice swam back into focus, eyes huge and dark with alarm, holding him. There were hands cradling his face, pulling him to look at her.   
  
"Do you hear me? That's good, stay with me now. _Listen_ , Legolas, it's me, it's Rowanna -"  
  
His pent-up breath escaped in one shuddering gasp and he clung to her as though he were drowning, burying his face in her hair to inhale great gulps of her faint scents of earth and hay and woodsmoke, driving away the unbearable sharp tang of salt and water. The pain and the longing ebbed and he collapsed against her shoulder, breathing hard.  
  
"Legolas? What _was_ that?..."  
  
"Don't – let go –"  
  
"I won't, I've got you – but what –" Then she broke off, and he felt a shock run through her. "The Sea. It's the Sea, isn't it?..."  
  
He knew shock in his turn; he drew back enough to look at her, amazed. " _How_ did you..."  
  
"Gimli said something last night, about your having been strange ever since Pelargir – but I was too tired to work it out – and Bilbo told me once, about the Sea-longing of the Grey-elves. And just now – it was the gulls, wasn't it? No – _don't_ look up!" She was drawing his head down to her again, would not let his gaze turn back to the sky. "They're still up there, let's get you within doors."  
  
"No, I –"  
  
"No, that's foolish, you need the green earth – wait, I know." She took both his hands in hers and slid down from the wall, drawing him with her. "Come on – I saw it on my way down through the garden..."  
  
'It' was an evergreen hedge which divided the garden about half way down its length, clearly of long standing, for it was feet deep; cut into its thickness at intervals, roofed over by the hedge itself, were little alcoves or hollows, a stone bench set in each. It looked southwards as the garden wall did, out over Anduin and towards Lebennin – but it closed off the sky above, and the thick green stems muffled sound from without. As they both sank onto a bench he took a deep grateful breath of the resiny scent of the plants, and felt the pounding of his heart subsiding.  
  
"Tell me." Rowanna still had firm hold of both his hands. "If you can, if you will –"  
  
"You were right, and Gimli too, though he knew not what it meant. It was at Pelargir; a great harbour upriver from the mouths of Anduin. We rode to seize the fleet of the Haradrim, to bring the Men of the southlands of Gondor to the defence of the White City. And as we drew near... it is an estuary, the River smells salt, and on its banks the gulls cry, and their calls pierced me like knives..."  
  
"But – Aragorn! He surely knows of the sea-longing, he was brought up by Elves! How could he make you do it? How –"  
  
"He did no such thing!" Even in his shaken state, indignation on his friend's behalf flared for a moment. "He made sure I knew whither we rode, and the risk; and for his sake and Middle-earth's, I would not have held back. And it _was_ risk, not certainty, for we never came to the Sea itself."  
  
"But then why –"  
  
"Galadriel foresaw it." He could not hold back a brief, bitter laugh. "Dark were her words indeed! She sent them me through Mithrandir; _'If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.'_ And so it proved; the cry of the gull was enough!.."  
  
"Bilbo said..." Rowanna was frowning. "... _'once woken, it can never be assuaged...'_ but then..." Her hands tightened suddenly on his. "Legolas – what will you do? What _can_ you do?"  
  
"I know not." He shook his head, recalling his earlier frustration. "Merry, and Pippin, and Gimli – they were trying to cheer me out of it, as though it were naught but a melancholy mood, as though I could _choose!_ As though all were not now changed forever!"  
  
"Longing for the Sea," Rowanna murmured, "and yet – you are a Wood-elf in your heart, I saw that often enough in Rivendell, for all you may be Grey-elf by your blood." He could hear the strain in her voice as he felt it in his own. "It will tear you in two! I saw it in your face – the joy and the pain intermingled, pulling you two different ways..."  
  
She was chafing his hands now, and he felt the warmth of her sympathy as though it flowed into him. _I know not how a mortal woman can, but she understands! At least in part..._   
  
"Did you expect it? If the Lady Galadriel had not spoken – would you have known?..."  
  
"I should have." He shifted his weight a little and turned back to gaze out down the River as he gathered his thoughts, feeling her turn along with him. "I know my lineage back beyond my father's father; the Sea-longing is a legend of our house, a part of our history. And yet... For an Age and more ours has been the Woodland Realm; the longing slumbers deep, and none has awoken it for a generation. For the green leaves was I named! And among them I thought to dwell for ever, and now..." Rowanna reached for his hand once more, and only when she gently uncurled his clenched fist did he realise his nails had deeply marked his own palm. "Wood-elf or Grey-elf? Which am I? I cannot be both!"  
  
"Aragorn said to me once that it was not an easy fate, to belong to more than one people," Rowanna said softly, "and that there might be a hard choice to make, in the end. He did not speak of those for whom there might be no choosing." She sighed. "But then – perhaps there will be no choice for any of us! In these days when all hangs by a thread..."  
  
"True enough." To his own surprise, he felt a wry smile come to his face. "Is that your best comfort, _mellonen_? That I should not fret over my own fate, since for all I know it will be out of my hands and in those of the Captains of the West – or the Dark Lord?"  
  
"I didn't mean - !" She flushed, until something in his face must have shown that he teased her – upon which she punched him lightly in the shoulder, he let out a mock yelp of anguish, and she was apologising all over again when she realised it was the _other_ arm which bore the fading scar, and broke into such an outraged expression that first he, and then she, dissolved into helpless laughter. _That laugh! All those dark moments when I longed to hear it, to know there was still joy in the world..._  
  
She leant back against the green alcove, sighing, and wiped her eyes. "Is that better?"  
  
"Strange though it might seem to be laughing on the brink of the abyss, and much though I fear the Warden of the Houses might diagnose a disorder of the mind – yes, it is." He rose, stepped from the alcove and stretched, shaking his head at her look of alarm. "Truly – fear not, for the moment I am well enough. Besides, I can smell the wind shifting, which means those infernal birds will be gone. Come –" he took her hands, drawing her to her feet – "I must track down whatever blacksmiths may be in the City and find Gimli, and get us both to Aragorn to hear the outcome of his councils. May I look in upon your mother before I go? I should like to wish her well."  
  
"She was on the verge of sleep again when I left her," Rowanna warned, "but yes, come."  
  
"On one condition – that you scout ahead for me and make sure Mistress Ioreth – was that the good lady's name? - is not by! I think on the whole I would prefer the battlefield..."  
  
Laughing again, they left the prospect of Anduin and Lebennin behind them, and wandered with joined hands back up to the Houses.  
  
*******


	33. The Setting Sun, The Rising Sun

"There, that's it." Narwen the Healer lowered Míranna gently to her freshly plumped pillows once more, having carefully administered her measured dose of hawthorn essence. "And – yes, I thought so, see – drowsing again already! 'Tis the best thing for her now, to rest and get well."  
  
"She's been awake for an hour or two, this afternoon," Rowanna admitted. Aragorn had come, after tending to Faramir and to Éowyn, to see how Míranna fared, and finding her waking had stayed nearly an hour, talking softly of Rowanna's father and of days gone by in the Riddermark. Míranna had insisted on being raised a little on her pillows to receive the Chieftain, and Aragorn had left her with sparkling eyes and colour in her cheeks. Two days after the battle for the Pelennor, the worst of the demands on the Houses had eased, as the more lightly wounded were billeted in barracks or in requisitioned houses around the City. Míranna had been offered a more spacious and comfortable room, with a smaller one adjoining it for her daughter which looked out over the gardens, and had been expertly moved there on a stretcher by the Healers' skilled assistants. They were now closer to Merry, and Pippin had spent much of the intervening day trotting back and forth between them to bring news.  
  
"The lower Circles are a mass of soldiery everywhere," he reported, "Rohirrim and Men of the City and others from I don't know where, all over Gondor; every smith and armourer that can be found has been working since before dawn. Legolas has been trying for hours to get a new bowstring, and enough feathers for fletching; and Iorhael says his father's been besieged all day in the stables on the Sixth with horsemen wanting tack and shoeing. Most of the Riders that are fit have gone north with Elfhelm, into Anórien, to try to drive back another army of orcs that the scouts say is lurking further up the West-Road; but Éomer's taking his own éored with Aragorn, along with the Swan Knights." He sighed. "Aragorn told Merry that he's to stay here – he's quite right, of course, the poor old thing is nothing like fit for another battle; but Merry is pretty downhearted about it, and - " he gulped a little - "if I'm honest, I wish he could be with me. It doesn't feel right, going without him to – well, to what might be the last battle of all. I don't want to let him down, to let Sam and Frodo down –"  
  
"Oh, Pippin." Rowanna swallowed the lump in her throat. "You and Merry are each at least as valiant as a Man of Gondor twice your size! You'll do your part, I'm certain of that." She knelt to hug him, wishing she felt half as cheerful as she was trying to sound. "Now off with you – that was the last day-bell just striking, and you'll miss supper in the buttery if you don't hurry –"  
  
"I almost forgot!" Pippin turned in the doorway. "A message from Legolas; Gimli asked me to let you know that he is coming, as soon as ever he can get all the gear he needs for tomorrow. I was told to tell you, _he will not fail of his promise_. So you'll see him later, I'm sure." And with that he pattered away down the corridor, and did not see Rowanna sink on to a stool beside her sleeping mother, pressing her fists to her mouth and drawing a deep and shaking breath.  
  
_'He will not fail of his promise.' When he left us yestereve… he promised to say goodbye._  
  
***  
  
Almost an hour later, with the sun beginning to sink, Rowanna found she could no longer bear to pace the room and worry. _What if Ioreth has said something foolish and sent him away again?_ She bent over Míranna and carefully checked her breathing and pulse; her mother slept soundly. _I'm going to look for him, at least find out if any of the Healers have seen him._ Any activity seemed preferable to her helpless, caged fretting. Drawing the door gently to behind her, she set off impatiently along the passageway.  
  
She drew a frustrating blank; no-one had seen the Elven-prince who was the King's companion, not even Ioreth whose circumlocutions Rowanna for once cut brusquely short, and she began to feel panic rising within her. _I have to find him! Legolas, where are you?_ There was nothing for it, she decided, but to go down to the lower Circles, or even on to the field; perhaps he was detained with Aragorn, or Gimli might know which armouries he had been to. _I'll ask Narwen if she will watch over Mother for me._ She was about to make for the door of the Houses when a thought struck her; _have some sense, woman, you're only wearing a borrowed gown. At least fetch that woollen shawl Bergil brought you from Adramir's house!_ Twisting her unruly hair roughly back into its leather tie as she ran back up the stairs, she ducked through Míranna's room into her own, glancing automatically towards the bed as she passed. She grabbed for the shawl on its hook without pushing her door open fully, turned away again –   
  
"Rowanna..."  
  
She whirled back; _how did I not see?_ But the room she had come from was dim, and he stood in the window silhouetted against the blinding red-gold of the setting sun, his face in shadow. He was holding out his hands to her as he spoke; she flew across the little room to him and in two paces was clasping them tightly in hers.  
  
"How – I was looking for you everywhere! How did I not pass you as you came up? - " Then, as her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw his raised eyebrow and the curl at the corner of his mouth, and gasped. "The window?.." _Of course, there's a silver birch not six feet from it!_ " _Legolas_ , you - "  
  
"You said it yourself, I am a Wood-elf in my heart!" he protested, laughing. "Fortunately, I had heard from Gimli that you had been given a new room, else I might have climbed in to the wrong one! I hoped thanks to my friend the birch to evade the good offices of Mistress Ioreth. And besides, I did not wish to disturb the lady Míranna, so it seemed entirely unfitting to invade her chamber. How fares she?"  
  
"A little stronger, today; she talked with Aragorn this afternoon awhile, and though it tired her, I think it cheered them both. She's deep asleep."  
  
"I am glad," Legolas said softly. "Does she need you now? Can you come down to the garden with me for a little? I would not be within doors, not tonight..."  
  
"I'll come," Rowanna agreed at once. "Though _not_ by the window and that birch tree; you will just have to brave the possibility of Ioreth on the way!"  
  
As they made their way around the corner of the Houses and stepped into the garden, Legolas took a deep, relieved breath, and Rowanna felt his tight grip on her hand relax a little.  
  
"Better?" she asked. He nodded.  
  
"If I lived as long as Ingwë himself I should never grow tired of the smell of green grass at dew-fall. Come - " He drew her after him through the gap in the evergreen hedge that led to the lower part of the garden, and as they emerged from the shadow of the trees, Rowanna looked up and gasped aloud. Before them a great swathe of scattered clouds glowed vivid rose across half the sky. Away to their right the sun was sinking behind Mindolluin's shoulder in a blaze of gold which almost dazzled them, sliced in half by a great band of cloud dyed purple and red. All the Pelennor and the Rammas were gilded by its dying light.  
  
"Now you see why I would not keep to the Houses," said Legolas quietly. They reached the wall which bounded the long green lawn, and leant against it side by side, both gazing at the glorious sky. "Not if this is to be the last - " He did not go on, and Rowanna spun round to face him, gripping his shoulder.   
  
"The last sunset you see before you march out to face the Dark Lord?" His eyes were still fixed on the sky's great sweep of golden cloud as though he could not bear to look away. "Legolas – Pippin has been bringing news to and fro all day; we have all heard the numbers bandied about. Six thousand men on foot, and a thousand horse? Against all the hosts of Mordor?" He nodded. "Do - do you truly think you can prevail?"  
  
"Truly?" he said softly. "Truly, _rohiril_ , there is more than one way to win a battle. Remember what we go to do: to draw Sauron's gaze, and all his forces, to the gates of his domain, that he may be less vigilant of his hinterlands. So that the Ringbearer may yet succeed; and on that hangs the fate of all Middle-earth. Regardless of whether we ever come back..."  
  
All Rowanna's worst fears rose up into her throat. "So... either you go, and are all slaughtered, and all in vain: or you go, and are all slaughtered, and the Ringbearer succeeds, and the world is saved?"  
  
"So it may well be," he agreed sombrely. "And let us hope it may be the second ending and not the first which fits our tale..."  
  
" _Hope?_ " Suddenly all the day's suppressed anxiety, all her rage and despair against what was to come, flared up together. "Do you _dare_ tell me, Legolas, you who always told me that friendship and love were stronger even than the Shadow, to _hope_ for the deaths of those I hold most dear? I will not! I - " A sob choked her to a standstill.  
  
"Oh, hush, hush..." Now he turned to her, and even as her eyes brimmed over Rowanna saw him reaching out, stricken. " _Avo nallo, mellonen...melethen..._ " He moved to brush her tears away.  
  
Afterwards neither could have said how it began; her arms went about him fiercely, his hands tangled in her hair as its hasty braiding came loose, their mouths met, they clung together. A kiss that began in desperation, full of longing, and fear, and grief for what might now never be; and deepened in discovery, and ended in a wondrous, slow dawning of joy.  
  
They broke apart at last, breathing hard as two who have narrowly escaped drowning, gazing at one another with shocked eyes.  
  
"I didn't - "

"You - "

" _I did not know!_ " they whispered together.

"I never thought - " Legolas broke off. "No, you go on - "  
  
"I – I could _feel ..._ " Rowanna struggled for words. "What you thought, what you felt, in my head! – you were there, as though - " Amazed, she reached tentatively up to touch his cheek. "Did you - "  
  
He nodded, still as stunned as she. "Among the Firstborn, it is always so; we can feel the thoughts and cares of those dear to us almost as we can our own. And I had wondered long that it seemed not to be so among Men. But now..." He traced with a fingertip the track a tear had left down her face. "Now perhaps I understand, a little! Mortal  _faer_ and _rhaw_ so closely interwoven that they are inseparable; so that in closeness of body comes closeness of soul, and in a simple kiss we found each other's mind and heart..." He kissed her mouth again gently, testing, tasting. "Thus."  
  
A few minutes later, Rowanna murmured, "Legolas?..."  
  
"What is it, _melethen_?" he enquired softly into her hair.  
  
"If... if what you said about the weaving of _faer_ and _rhaw_ is true – if we found all that in a kiss, then -"  
  
"Then how much closer yet might be made the interweaving?" She felt him smile against the flushed skin of her throat. "Among the Eldar, to be joined in body is to make a bond of souls so strongly knit that it lasts for all eternity."  
  
"Between an Elf and a mortal..."  
  
"That I know not. Except for Lúthien and Beren, of course, and theirs was somewhat a special case... And sadly, _melethen_ ," he sighed, stroking back the dark glossy hair which tumbled about them both, "I am not sure we shall have the opportunity to find out."  
  
They were sitting curled together on the wall now, watching the last of the glory of crimson and gold fade from the sky and the first stars emerging into the deep blue of evening. Legolas reached for his cloak where it had fallen unregarded to the ground, and wrapped it round them both. "Are you warm?"  
  
Rowanna nodded, burrowing into his shoulder. "But I must go back up to the Houses soon; I can't leave Mother too long, lest she wake and need me..."  
  
"I would not ask it of you," he agreed. "But let me come up with you, and watch with you? You're so weary, you should rest; and I will not sleep in any case, not tonight."  
  
***  
  
An hour or two later, he sat cross-legged on the small pallet bed in Rowanna's room, its window open to let him breathe the night-air, and the door set wide for a clear view of Míranna's chamber. Rowanna lay with her head in his lap, her hair spilling over his fingers, fallen asleep to a murmured Elvish lullaby of trees and starlight. _Stranger yet grows the Song! For tomorrow I march, most likely, to my death, and yet... had I the choice of my path among all the powers and chances of this world, I would be nowhere else in Arda but now, and here._  
  
***

Rowanna awoke to faint grey light, and gentle fingers stroking back her hair. Legolas was propped on one elbow, smiling as he watched her.  
  
"I wish I could let you sleep," he murmured. "But dawn comes, and I would not have you wake and find me gone."  
  
"I'm glad you woke me. Is it time?"  
  
"It is. I must go down to the muster." He moved deftly around the small room, gathering his bow and quiver, as Rowanna went into the next room to check on Míranna. She looked back at him anxiously.  
  
"Have you slept at all?"  
  
"I dreamed a little. But mostly I wanted to look at you." He turned to her with a smile that tore at her heart. "I need my hope to carry into the darkness! I can rest in dreams on the road; it will be at least a day before we reach lands where we must watch for the Enemy."  
  
He slung his bow across his back, and reached for her hands. "Can you come down to the Gate with me?"  
  
"I'll come. I'll ask the Healer doing the dawn round to see if Mother wakes." They descended the great staircase of the sleeping Houses and worked their way down through the City, the Circles growing busier with men and horses the lower they went. As they reached the ruin of the Gate, Rowanna stopped, drawing Legolas aside, out of the stream of soldiery going out onto the Pelennor; a detachment of Riders passed them on the way to mount up, glancing curiously at the Elf and the mortal woman as the Rohirrim swept out talking and laughing on to the field.  
  
"Is Arod ready for you?"  
  
"I left him last night well-fed and watered, tethered close by Aragorn's tent with Roheryn for company. He must carry both Gimli and me once again; 'tis well he's a compliant beast."  
  
"Go then, find him, and get you all three to Aragorn. I will go up to the wall, and watch you ride." Rowanna gazed at him steadily. "Legolas: Elbereth guide you, guard and protect you..." - she bestowed the three kisses of the Elven blessing upon his left cheek, right cheek, and his brow - "to the end of the world."   
  
"And you, _melethen_ ; to the end of the world," he echoed, tilting her head gently to kiss her in return. For a moment his hand went to the leaf-brooch of Lothlorien where it once again fastened his grey cloak at her throat. Then he turned on his heel and broke into a swift, graceful run, out onto the field and away towards Aragorn's tent, and did not look back.   
  
Rowanna took a deep breath, and set off up the stairs leading to the parapet atop the wall. There she found Merry and Bergil alongside a little knot of other folk of the City: an old man, boys, two women from the Houses, the remnant who must wait and watch while their troops gathered around the Captains. Rowanna's heart swelled at the sight of Éomer, the rising sun making his blond mane gleam, a host of Rohirrim gathered about his proudly tattered standard with its white horse shining on the green. Across from him the Swan Knights mustered, their magnificent greys prancing with excitement, caparisoned in blue and white, with Prince Imrahil immaculate at their head. Bergil nudged Merry and pointed out the company led by his father, in which Pippin made a small but doughty Guard. Furthest from the gate, ready to lead the host away, flew the White Tree on its black standard. Aragorn waited ready beside it on Roheryn, and - yes - there Arod moved up behind him, a tall figure and a stockier one both astride.  
  
"To the end of the world," Rowanna whispered, as the trumpets rang out. Company by company the army moved out and turned down the great road to the eastward Causeway with an endless tramping of feet and ringing of hooves, sun glinting on spears and helms, until at last even the rearguard was lost from sight, marching toward Mordor.  
  
*******  
  
**Author's Notes:**

Ingwë: High King of all the Elves and Lord of the Vanyar, who was born in the Time of the Trees before the Great Journey to Aman.

_avo nallo_ = do not cry  
  
_mellonen_ = my friend  
  
_melethen_ = my love  
  
_faer_ = spirit, soul  
  
 _rhaw_ = body  
  
  
"Among the Eldar, to be joined in body is to make a bond of souls so strongly knit that it lasts for all eternity." – Legolas has clearly read his _LaCE_ … ;-)


	34. Of Times There Were Before

  
"How did you sleep?" Rowanna enquired of her mother, as she finished brushing Míranna's hair as gently as she was able and did her best to braid it into some sort of order. Míranna sighed.  
  
"Not with great ease, my dear, I must admit - "  
  
"I thought I heard you stirring before dawn. Were you dreaming again?" She tucked her mother's braid into a net and plumped her pillows a little for her. "Nightmares?..."  
  
"Hard to say." Míranna frowned a little. "They were all mixed up; some things were terrible, and yet an instant later they were gone. I saw a great army of Men of the West before the gates of Mordor, sinking under terrible black waves of orcs and Easterlings; but then the White Tree blooming on a mountainside, and then a dark-haired woman sitting on a stone bench in a garden and weeping as though her heart would break..."  
  
"It sounds rather like the visions of the Lady Galadriel's Mirror, and from what I am told, about as much use," Rowanna grumbled, "showing what has been, and what might be to come, and what might not! What do you think the –" She was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Let's see who that is – it's a little early for Narwen..." She rose to answer it.  
  
"The _Steward_?" Rowanna stared at the errand-boy of the Houses who had brought the message.  
  
"That's right, mistress, my lord Faramir – he asks whether, if you are at leisure, you would be kind enough to join him in his rooms around the ninth hour this afternoon to take some tea. He says to tell you that he hopes Master Meriadoc the _perian_ will be there also." The lad glanced past Rowanna into the room. "And he further asked me to say that he knows of the charge upon your care, and that if your lady mother's condition does not permit of your joining him, he will quite understand."  
  
"I – well, I –" Rowanna in her turn glanced back towards the bed; Míranna, who was looking distinctly amused, nodded firmly. "Please tell my lord Faramir that, unless my mother should take an unexpected turn for the worse, it will be my pleasure to join him." As the errand-boy grinned acknowledgment and strode back down the hallway whistling, she sat down heavily on the end of Míranna's bed.  
  
" _Tea?_ Perhaps Denethor is not the only one of his line to have lost his mind in the siege of Minas Tirith! Here the whole City waits on a knife-edge, driven half mad for want of news from the East, and the Steward is mustering _tea-parties_?"  
  
"Oh come now, daughter." Míranna was smiling. "Perhaps the waiting is precisely what the Steward seeks to ease for those from far-flung lands he may think of as his guests." She coughed a little, and Rowanna quickly shifted to pass her the beaker of water from her side-table. "Or would you prefer to continue gazing out of that window all day while you gnaw your nails to the quick?"  
  
Rowanna looked down at her fingers and grimaced. _I can't gainsay her there._ Two days since the Captains of the West had ridden eastwards; two days of the ten or more the anxious White City must wait for news, since it would be a week's march at least till the army could come to the Black Gate, and several days more for even the hardest rider to cover the many leagues back to Minas Tirith with tidings – good, or evil.  
  
_Is it better, that we hear nothing?_.. She and Merry had debated the possibilities the previous day – in the privacy of Merry's room, since the folk of the City in general presumably knew nothing of the One Ring, and thought only that their captains had ridden out on a last brave, desperate attempt to overthrow the Dark Lord by force.   
  
"They could be ambushed long before they ever get to Mordor," the Hobbit had pointed out, hugging his knees as Rowanna sat at his bedside. "If Gandalf and Aragorn are right and there are thousands more Orcs and Easterlings and Haradrim still ready to do Sauron's bidding..."  
  
"And if Aragorn couldn't hold them back..." Rowanna shivered. "Then those scratch companies of archers and infantry that Bergil says are being drilled daily down on the Pelennor, and Elfhelm's éoreds, would be all we'd have left. We might not even know of it until - "  
  
" _Don't._ " Merry pulled the blankets up nearly to his chin. "Remember – there is just one other message that might come back westwards sooner. If Sam and Frodo..."  
  
He broke off, turning away, and Rowanna thought she saw tears glitter in his eyes. _Nearly a month, now, since he parted from them at Parth Galen, and two hobbits set off to walk alone into Mordor with the Ring. And yet – Sauron surely cannot have got It back, for if he had, we would all have been doomed when they attacked the City. So what can have become of Frodo and Samwise?..._ She reached for the Hobbit's hand and squeezed it. "That's true. Let's just keep hoping, Merry; I think that's all we can do..."  
  
"So you truly think it is but a social invitation?" she demanded now of Míranna, who nodded.   
  
"I cannot imagine what else, unless – no, surely - "  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Well – you came riding into the City down the West-road just as all women and children had been ordered out, and I refused to leave. The pair of us have not exactly been obedient to the edicts of the Stewards in recent days, have we?" She broke off to sip at her water. "Or, in my case, for many years – but then..."  
  
" Firstly," Rowanna pointed out, "Faramir was, what? Nine, when Father was killed? How likely is it truly that he would remember you refusing all Great-grandfather Andamir's demands that you come back to Gondor, even when the Steward added his name to the petition?" _Though his brother did,_ she recalled with a shiver, _I am still sure of it, when I first told him my name the evening after the Council in Rivendell..._ "Secondly, the Steward must have more pressing concerns on his mind at this point than either your transgressions of a quarter-century ago, or our minor infractions of the past week. And thirdly, if he truly did intend to hold either of us to account, is it really likely he would be inviting me to _tea_?" She looked down at Míranna, who to her relief was beginning to chuckle. "If you want something to worry about, tell me this – what on earth have I that is fit to wear?..."  
  
In the event, a freshly laundered gown borrowed from the Houses' store of linen had to suffice for the afternoon's appointment, while one of the Healers' assistants who had a deft hand with a brush put up Rowanna's hair for her. _If the Steward but knew it,_ she reflected as she made her way down the staircase to the more spacious rooms on the ground floor, _I am a good deal more presentable than when I last saw him, when my shirt-tails had been turned into bandages and I was bloody to the elbows..._ Repressing the thought with a shudder, she came to a halt as the errand-lad leading the way knocked at a half-open oak door and announced to the room behind it,  
  
"Mistress Rowanna, my lord Steward, Master _Perian_."  
  
Before she could urge him not to get up – for clearly he did so with a little difficulty – the black-clad man in the armchair opposite had levered himself stiffly to his feet, and made a sketchy and careful attempt at a bow. _Of course,_ Rowanna remembered, _even before the nightmarish business with the pyre, he'd fallen in the retreat, hadn't he? They said he took a Southron arrow, and – yes, a cracked rib or two, by the look of him..._ He was half a head taller than she, long and lean of build, blue-black hair falling a little unruly into a fine-boned face bearing yellowing bruises all down one side. _I would never have known him kin to his brother!_ she thought, remembering Boromir's great bear-like bulk – until she was appraised by a keen grey-eyed gaze which, just for a moment, took her back to an uncomfortable first encounter at the door of Master Elrond's feasting-hall.  
  
"My lady; I am Faramir. I do apologise for calling you from your mother's bedside. May I ask how she does?" His voice was a little ragged as though from fatigue, and looking at him again Rowanna was struck by his pallor and the deep black hollows under his eyes. _He must be weary half to death,_ she realised. _He is, what? Five years older than I? And yet he looks as burdened as a ruler twice his age..._  
  
"The Healers say she is doing well, my lord, I thank you. She has been awake longer today, and with more strength to converse, though she is still far from getting up from her bed. And she could not be better cared for, I don't think, than here in the Houses. Please, my lord, do not stand any longer on my account – I know you are far from full fitness yourself..."  
  
"Ah, but having been fool enough to get to my feet, in some ways it is easier to stay standing than to try to get back down into that chair!" the Steward responded with a rueful smile. "In fact, I fear that either I must prevail on your good nature and Master Meriadoc's to assist me, or someone will have to ring for one or two of the Healers' aides – oh, thank you, my lady, that – _ow_..."  
  
"Hold on, my lord – there –" Rowanna reached for cushions from one of the other chairs and tucked them behind him. "Does that help?" She winced in sympathy as Faramir sank back. "Ribs?"  
  
He nodded, grimacing. "The Healers are in dispute as to whether I've cracked any or merely badly bruised them, but frankly the distinction seems to me rather academic at this point. Ah – tea!"   
  
"And please," he added as a small table was brought up and the tea-things arranged, "I cannot stand upon ceremony with two guests who have already been called upon to help me back into my own chair! Call me Faramir. And, if I may – Rowanna and Meriadoc?"  
  
"Merry, please," the Hobbit broke in as he looked over the tea-table approvingly. "Oh, Rowanna, look – these are just like those amazing pastries you used to devour in Rivendell –"  
  
" _Merry!_ " Rowanna protested. "Must you reveal me to the Steward as a glutton when we've only just – my lord?" For the Steward had suddenly sat up in his chair, and then been brought up short with a pained breath hissing through his teeth. "Faramir?"  
  
"It's all right, I – Rivendell? _You_ were there too?..."  
  
"I was, though not for any reason connected directly with Merry, or with Frodo's quest," Rowanna admitted, pouring tea for Merry and Faramir – _another useful skill I acquired from Bilbo!_ she thought with a flash of nostalgia. "But that is a tale to take up the whole afternoon, and - " she hesitated - "I confess I did wonder whether there was anything more specific you wished to talk to Merry and me about? Your invitation was – somewhat unexpected..."  
  
"Forgive me for that. But yes –" the Steward took a long, grateful pull at his teacup – "there was something; or rather someone. Someone with whom I know that Merry rode to war – and with whom, the Warden tells me, you have also prior acquaintance, Rowanna. I am rather concerned for the state of mind of one of my fellow-patients here in the Houses; and so I am hoping that you will both be kind enough to tell me a little more of the Lady Éowyn of Rohan."  
  
Rowanna felt a sharp pang of guilt. _Now that Éomer has ridden out again, and Elfhelm is patrolling the West-road – are there any left here in the City who would look to her in friendship? I should have thought – I have been so much with Mother, and with Merry, but I could have gone to see her too..._  
  
"One thing I do wish to say to begin with, Merry," Faramir went on. "I know, believe me, that there must be much that has befallen since you rode from Dunharrow with the Rohirrim which you would rather not dwell on. I promise you you need speak of nothing that you do not wish to, and I will not press you."  
  
"All right." Merry reached over the table and piled his plate as though to fortify himself. "I don't know how much help I can be to you, Faramir – but I'll try."  
  
"Tell us perhaps first how you came to be riding with Éowyn," suggested Faramir, and Merry began; the Hobbit's natural enthusiasm for tales overcoming his initial reticence as he described his desolation at being left behind in Dunharrow, and the kindness of the one he thought a young rider named Dernhelm.  
  
"I thought him younger and lighter in build than the others, but I had no idea at all that it was the lady Éowyn – Dernhelm said almost nothing, and we were in the saddle most of the time. And of course she'd had to leave Dunharrow in disguise, for the King had forbidden her to ride – and she was leaving when he had put his people in her charge..."  
  
"She did _what_?" Rowanna narrowly avoided spluttering tea all over the room. " _Éowyn?_ Abandoned the women and children and the old folk of Rohan? - they had been left in her trust?"  
  
"That surprises you?" Faramir put down his cup and gazed keenly at Rowanna.  
  
"It – it shocks me beyond measure, Faramir, in truth. When I last saw her in the bakehouse of Meduseld, ordering the rations, taking thought for all in Edoras down to the most lowly, who should have been her father's care had he not been under Wormtongue's poison – holding herself and the city together against all the world even as that vile creature sought to coerce her..." Rowanna shook her head to clear it of the memory. "I... I cannot imagine how desperate must have been Éowyn's torment, that she could do so. I do not think she can have been in her right mind."  
  
The Steward nodded slowly, turning his teacup round and round in his slender fingers. "And you, Merry? What say you to this?"  
  
"I – well, I do not feel in any position to rule on what great lords and ladies do in matters of command, or how they order things in time of war." Merry chewed his lip for a moment reflectively. "But – I'll tell you what I thought whenever I saw the face of the one I called Dernhelm, through all the days we rode to try to reach you, and never knew if we'd be in time: _there goes one who has lost all hope, and who looks only for death_." He sighed gustily, and took a gulp of his tea. "And she nearly found it, too. Poor Éowyn!"  
  
Faramir frowned. "You do not think that what you saw was only the battle-readiness of the Rohirrim, Merry? You know what is said of them – that they have no fear of death on the field, and ride to meet it singing…"  
  
"I saw that too," the Hobbit agreed, "when we charged across the Pelennor, and you could feel every heart lift and the battle-blood rising, the joy that we were not too late and there were yet great deeds to do. But that felt different somehow – the Riders embrace the fight, and laugh in the face of death without fear; but that's not to say that they ride to the combat seeking only to die, and will be disappointed if they wake and find themselves still living!"  
  
"You truly think Éowyn wished to die?"  
  
"I know it, Faramir. I saw it when –" he suppressed a shudder – "when the Witch-King was towering over us, black and terrible, and she stood before him with drawn sword and laughed in his face. Her only fear then was that he was too great a foe for her to thwart, that she could not keep him and his horrible steed from the King. She wanted death, as long as she could bring him down with her! If she hadn't felt like that – then I don't think she could have done it. Not when everyone else was fleeing from him or …crawling in the dust…" His plate rattled violently as he put it hastily down on the table, and buried his face in his shaking hands.  
  
"Merry!" Rowanna was on her knees beside the Hobbit much faster than Faramir could begin to move, and hugged him tightly. "It's all right – you're safe now, he's dead and gone…"  
  
"He – was so terrible!" Merry gasped into her shoulder. "The darkness, and the cold…"   
  
"I know, Merry. I _do_ know!" She rocked him a little, patting his back. "And so does Faramir. None here would think shame of any who were brought low by that dark power, for so have we all been. And all of us brought back. I by Master Elrond – " _and again by Legolas!_ she thought, embracing the warm memory for an instant – "and you and Faramir by Aragorn." She sat back and looked affectionately at the Hobbit, who was hastily scrubbing at his eyes. "So you see, this tea-party has more common ground than I first thought! Come on – let me just refresh this teapot," she reached for the jug of hot water and did so – "and in a moment I'll pour you some more tea…"  
  
"I am sorry, Merry." Faramir turned a little in his chair, though clearly it hurt him, and laid a hand gently on the Hobbit's arm. "I had no wish to distress you, and like a fool I took you straight back to a place none of us wants to revisit, even in memory. Please forgive me."  
  
"It's all right." Merry took a deep, steadying breath, and reached gratefully for the refilled teacup Rowanna passed to him. "It happened, after all, and I can't make it go away; I just have to learn to live with it, I know that. And Rowanna is right. Strider – I mean Aragorn – brought us back again; the Shadow wasn't strong enough to hold us against his will. So it can be defeated!"  
  
"By the King," Faramir agreed.  
  
_'By loyalty, and friendship, and love…'_ Rowanna thought, as an image flashed into her mind of Merry, on his hands and knees, crawling despite his terror to Éowyn's aid. _Oh Legolas… Powers, let it yet hold true!_  
  
"Rowanna?" The Steward was looking at her with anxiety in his clear grey eyes.   
  
"I'm sorry, Faramir – I was miles away for a moment." _Before the Black Gate…_  
  
"I think," said the Steward firmly, "that we all need not only more tea but more cake. Merry, would you do a kindness to my aching ribs and reach for that bell-pull?"  
  
By the time Rowanna took her leave over an hour later, the idea that the new Steward might ever have wished to call her or her mother to answer for disregard of official edicts had retreated into the realm of the absurd. Faramir had listened intently to the tale of Miranna's illness, especially to Aragorn's view of how it had come to overwhelm her and then to recede. Rowanna even found herself, somewhat to her own surprise, telling him in detail not only about her time in Rivendell, but how and why she had come to be there, and what she could remember of her own drawing back from the Shadow by Elrond. For Faramir was, she found, remarkably easy to talk to, full of curiosity, and never seeming to judge.  
  
She had wondered whether talk of Rivendell would wound him, since it must inevitably lead to thoughts of his brother; but the Steward's eyes lit up when Merry talked of the Hall of Fire and the feasting, and positively sparkled when Rowanna recalled her long afternoons with Bilbo in the library.  
  
"The lore-books of Master Elrond – all the histories of Númenor and Aman! I only wish – but that doesn't matter now. What's done is done."  
  
He wanted to know, too, all that Rowanna could tell him about Éowyn, and she recounted what she knew of recent weeks in Meduseld; the White Lady burdened by cares for her people, her brother and her King, all the time menaced by the slippery presence of Wormtongue.  
  
"If I could get my hands on him! –" Faramir muttered.  
  
"You'd have to wait your turn behind most of Edoras, then," retorted Rowanna with a chuckle, "and you'd all be lucky if by the time Éomer King had finished with him there was anything left for you to do but dance on the pieces!"  
  
The Steward burst out laughing, then clapped his hand to his side and winced. "Milady – _please_ don't do that! I don't think I have ever before asked a guest to be _less_ witty or entertaining, but if you must – at least warn me first!" He sobered. "We knew of Gríma, but we had no idea matters had become so dire – at least, I did not, and I don't think Father did either. Well for us that Mithrandir came to Edoras when he did, or who knows what answer might have been made to the Red Arrow?"  
  
Once Faramir realised that Rowanna had been brought up in Éomund's great hall in the Eastfold while her mother worked as broderess to Lady Théodwyn, he wanted childhood tales of the Mark too, to which Merry, who had not heard them all before, also listened with delight.   
  
"I would tell you the one about the time she finished by pitching her brother into the dungheap," Rowanna concluded, "but I fear, my lord, your ribs are not up to it – that one will have to wait for another day!" She replaced her plate on the tea-table and brushed crumbs from her skirt. "And if you will both pardon me, it's time I thought of returning, in case Mother needs anything. She was growing drowsy when I left, but she has been having strange dreams, and I think they unsettle her more than she will own – "  
  
"What does she dream of?" The Steward had looked up sharply from the table.   
  
"Strange fragments of things, I think – she says they make no sense taken together; everything from the White Tree to people weeping in gardens. Back in the Mark I would have told her not to trouble herself, that dreams were of no account; but since dwelling in Rivendell…"  
  
"You have learned that they may be much more?" Faramir nodded slowly in agreement. "Rowanna… do you think your mother might be well enough for me to pay my compliments to her tomorrow? Will you ask her if I may?"  
  
"Gladly – she is beginning to fret already about keeping to her bed, I think, and it will be at least a week yet, the Warden says, before she is strong enough to rise from it; company will cheer her. Good even to you both – no, Faramir, _don't_ get up from that chair! I'll see you tomorrow, Merry – sleep well."  
  
But Rowanna's own sleep that night was troubled; in the small hours she woke sobbing from a terrible dream of Legolas lying broken and bloody on a black and stony plain, his long knife shattered beside him and the great war-bow of Lothlórien trampled into the dust, and the light gone from his clear blue eyes. Not wanting to get up for fear of disturbing her mother, she buried her face in her pillow to muffle the sound of her weeping, and cried until the sky began to lighten and she fell at last into exhaustion.  
  
  
*******


	35. Over Death, Over Dread, Over Doom Lifted

"Legolas? What ails you, lad?.." Gimli, who had been hunting in his tunic for his pipe, looked round as the Elf sat up abruptly, gasping. "I thought you were sleeping?"

"I – nothing, Gimli; I dreamed, that's all." Legolas shook his head as though to clear it and huddled into the folds of his cloak, hugging his knees to his chest.

The Dwarf grunted, and began carefully tamping down a little of his hoarded store of tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

" And there was I thinking I could sneak a quiet smoke while you weren't awake to complain of it!"

Legolas managed a shaky chuckle. "I'll not begrudge it you; if it's a stink 'tis at least a friendly and familiar one, I suppose. Smoke if you will!" Gimli's eyebrows shot up into his hair.

"Are you _sure_ you're not ailing? This isn't all that stuff about the Sea and gulls again, is it?.." Receiving no answer from the Elf beyond a shake of the head, he shrugged, lit his pipe carefully, and sat back with a sigh of relief.

Legolas stared unseeing across the encampment, unable to banish the image; Rowanna, sitting alone on the stone bench in the evergreen-sheltered alcove, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably and her face buried in her tear-stained hands. He felt the great wave of grief and despair that flowed over her, threatening to engulf her; in his mind he stretched out to her just as he had that evening below the Houses, desperate to hold her, to comfort -

_I cannot_ . Again and again the waking-dream came, and over and over it mocked him, would not let him reach out in mind and console her. _She can't hear me – we're apart, I can't touch her, there's no way..._

_Is she there even now, in the garden, looking eastward?_ The thought tore painfully at his heart. _Do I see what is – or what may yet come to pass?.._

***

Rowanna tapped softly, in case the room's occupant was sleeping; but a tired "Come in" met her knock. Éowyn was curled in the window-seat, elbows propped on the sill, gazing out towards the morning sun, and only half-turned as Rowanna entered.

"Lady Éowyn, good morrow –" She made to curtsey, but Éowyn forestalled her with an impatient gesture and motioned her to take the other end of the window seat. "How fare you? Does your arm pain you?"

Éowyn shook her head. "The arm is well enough, set and bound – it is not as if I shall have any use for it!"

Rowanna settled herself among the tapestried cushions, noting Éowyn's white face and hollow eyes. _Worse than in the bakehouse of Meduseld! But then 'tis little wonder..._

"Has that arm not done great deeds enough already?" she suggested gently. "Were it not for you and Merry, who knows if we would be sitting here now –"

Éowyn's good hand clenched convulsively on the sill.

"But they have ridden forth again! My brother, and... _he_ – the lord Aragorn..."

_And Legolas,_ thought Rowanna, her heart contracting powerfully at the thought. She looked into Éowyn's face and, unexpectedly, recognised something very like her own anguish mirrored there. _Is it so?..._ The idea startled her, but she thought she could see the truth of it in Éowyn's despairing eyes. _For **Aragorn** ?... _ She felt a sudden rush of sympathy, and found herself reaching to fold her own hand over Éowyn's. _Of course, she can know nothing of Arwen! And to one raised as a shieldmaiden, on dreams of valour and renown, how could the Chieftain **not** be everything she longed for?... _

"And because I am a woman, though I could yet wield a blade, I must sit helpless here and wait to learn my fate!" Éowyn finished bitterly.

"Because you are wounded, rather, surely," Rowanna protested. "What commander would send you into battle with no shield arm? There are men felled by the Black Breath who must also wait behind – the Steward himself, for one..."

Éowyn's fingers worked restlessly across the sill.

"He is a good man," she admitted wearily. "Valiant, and...kind."

"No doubt of either," Rowanna agreed robustly. "He came to sit with Mother yesterday - I had told him she was troubled by dreams these last nights, and he wanted to help if he could; he has a dreamer's face himself, somewhat, I think. I don't know all they talked of, for I had promised to sit in the garden with Merry; but they were closeted nearly till noon, and parted as though Faramir were her favourite nephew. And when he was gone Mother said something about the truest courage being oft the quietest; _that young man has been eye to eye with his worst fears_ , she said, _and yet must go on each day in spite of them_. I do wonder what they talked about..."

She noticed Éowyn stir suddenly. "What is it?"

"Oh – nothing..."

But Rowanna too had caught through the window the movement of a slender black-clad figure rounding the southeast corner of the House.

"Come down to the garden," she suggested. "The sun will be warm now, and the new grass smells so fresh – the air would do you nothing but good."

Rather to her surprise, Éowyn turned decisively and made to rise.

"Do you know, I believe I will." And so a little later Rowanna left the Steward and the White Lady walking beneath the budding branches of the fruit trees, the sun warm on their backs even as their gaze slid incessantly back to the lowering darkness over the mountains to the East.

***

_I never knew an army on the march move so quietly_ , Legolas thought as they plodded hour after dogged hour along the ancient road to the Morannon. _Granted, we have been ambushed once already, and but for the woodcraft of the Lord Faramir's ranger scouts it might have gone hard for us; but 'tis more than that._ He would have spoken his thought to Gimli, but with the Dwarf mounted behind him, he would have had to raise his voice more than seemed fitting in the watchful quiet of the advance. _The very rocks listen._ He had been trying, ever since they had first crossed Anduin, to hear the murmurings of tree, leaf, stream; _but ever since the Crossroads, nothing. Silence. The land is afraid._

_And no wonder!_ His jaw tightened as he remembered the damage north of the Crossroads; _trees which should have stood proud in their prime, mutilated... despoiled. Not even cut down for use – hacked into and left broken and bleeding sap, for what? Taking pleasure in what axe or knife can do? Good earth and clean water poisoned by filth... Gimli was surprised to see me weep. Aragorn was not._ But it had been the sons of Elrond who had come to hunker down one at either shoulder, as he knelt running his fingers in mute despair over the ruins of a holm oak, and said softly in his ear,

"There's no time now, Legolas Thranduilion. Another day..."

Whether they had meant, _to grieve_ , or _to repair_ , he had not asked; but the seed of the idea had been planted. _I would come back. I swear it, Queen of the Earth. Orcs did this; Elves should make amends..._

But the land's silence, he knew, could not entirely account for the army's; _and it is more even than the threat of ambush, I think. We march in silence because there is nothing to say; because it is all these drawn-faced Men can do to go on putting one foot in front of the other. No jest, no argument can mask the bitter truth; we do this because we can do naught else, yet we all know we are marching to our doom._

He felt the menace before the pair of Nazgûl shadowed the sun, and forced his gaze upward, steeling himself as the chill shriek carried faintly down the wind: _tâd_ , he mouthed silently to Aragorn, who nodded grimly. _They watch our every move. I would give anything to turn away, but he must know their numbers! And to all but me they are a horror beyond sight, these worst of the oppressions that weigh down on us. Small wonder, that not all could bear it. Were those whom Aragorn sent back to Cair Andros, overmastered by their fear, simply the youngest and the least tried? Or were they perhaps the clearest-sighted about what is to come?_

He stared unseeing that night into the small fire Gimli had patiently assembled from a few handfuls of kindling, aware of the other's gaze on him behind the steady puffs of smoke from his pipe.

"You've barely spoken today," Gimli observed gruffly. "Not a word to cheer a poor Dwarf?..."

"Forgive me, Gimli. This land...haunts me."

_How could I begin to tell him? That before I was born my grandfather rode to war upon this domain, an Age ago, and was cut down like the grass with two-thirds of his Elves before the very gates of Mordor that we march upon? That the histories of our House recount how Father led home the proud, scarred remnant of our force, but only the whispered tales late at night tell of the black silences and the rages and despair that followed? Father never, never speaks of it. And only those who love him best dare to murmur, when his mood is dark, that he was changed-_

Knowing that Gimli fretted for him, he rolled himself up in his blanket and stared into the night, hoping against hope for respite; but in his dreams the Greenwood was in flames, his people lay dead in their thousands upon the black plain of the Dagorlad, Thranduil sat unmoving in a cold chamber whose fire and candles were long burnt out...

_'I won't let go, I've got you._ ' The familiar voice came in his head as though she were beside him. _She smells of sweet hay and woodsmoke and her mouth tastes warm as wine..._

He held her in his mind all that night: clung to the memory all through the gathering dread of the days and nights that followed, as the wolves howled about them and the wind grew chill; until the last march was done, and they stood in the grey dawn surrounded by slag-heaps and ash, beyond hope, before the gates of Mordor.

***

Rowanna stirred out of an uneasy doze as an early burst of birdsong drifted in through the open window. _Thank the Powers, it grows light – not long before I can give up any pretence at sleep..._ She had spent yet another night, the seventh since the Armies of the West had marched from the Pelennor, forcing herself to lie rigid in bed; too tired to sit up, unwilling to toss and turn for fear of disturbing her mother in the adjoining room, yet tormented by broken fragments of nightmare whenever weariness closed her eyes and dragged her into sleep.

She hauled herself to sit upright, grimacing at the protests from her stiffened neck and back, then swung her legs from the bed and went softly, as always, to the doorway to look in on her mother. Míranna was shifting restlessly on her pillow as she slept; Rowanna turned quietly away again and moved towards the window. _It's cold!_ The unexpected chill draught brought her to instant wakefulness. _And windy – from the North..._ Sullen clouds were scudding across a leaden sky as it steadily lightened. Rowanna shivered.

_Will it be today? Merry said that Beregond thought, perhaps a week to reach the Black Gate – if they got that far..._ She longed for wings, for the far sight of Master Elrond, for a steed the match of Shadowfax; _I would rather have to see, whatever fate befalls them, than sit here helpless. Could those we love so dearly truly be gone from the world, and we not know even when to begin to mourn?.._

***

_This is the place._ Legolas had forced himself to take one searching look at his surroundings as the first grey light of dawn revealed the hideous, twisted forms of broken black rock and ash all around; and then needed to gaze no more, feeling Sauron's land and his creatures all about him in the prickling of his skin and the nausea he fought down. _Here Grandfather and the army of the Greenwood stood, and here so many of them fell, without sight of leaf or grass or any green or living thing save the foul spawn of Mordor._ All night the fate of his kin had played on him, till he found himself calling on the Star-Queen: _Elbereth, no matter the terror, let it not undo me!_

But as Aragorn drew up his host upon two hills of rubble before the Black Gate, and called Elf and Dwarf to ride forth with him beneath Crown and Stars to challenge the Dark Lord, what filled Legolas was not fear but leaden, cold determination. _There shall yet be a reckoning. Though we all perish, Powers willing we shall buy Sam and Frodo enough time._

But then the Mouth of Sauron brought out Sam's sword, and Frodo's mithril-coat; Legolas felt Gimli stiffen behind him on Arod's back. He would not, must not look away, though his vision swam in despair. _'Tis over, then. I must to Mandos knowing Middle-earth is the Dark Lord's. Ai, Father – Rowanna..._

_Mithrandir does not believe it!_ Just for an instant Legolas saw it as the wizard argued with the Black Númenorean, and it was enough. _Sauron's vile messenger has no prisoner. Frodo is not his to yield._ _We fight yet with a purpose!_

They galloped wildly back to the waiting armies, Aragorn calling across to Mithrandir and to Éomer even as they rode, already disposing his utterly outnumbered troops. Stationed towards the summit of the hill where he could shoot over the heads of the Men of Minas Tirith, Legolas cast one swift glance about, placing his friends for the last time: Aragorn close by him beneath the standard; the sons of Elrond in the vanguard with the Grey Company of the Dúnedain; Pippin, far too close to danger – _as if it mattered, now!_ he realised ruefully – in the front rank with Dol Amroth.

"What say you, Gimli?" he called. "Shall we make one last contest of it, before the end?"

He could barely make the Dwarf out further forward among the tall Men of Gondor, but the low rumble was unmistakable, even over the shrieking and clashing as Easterlings and Orcs beyond counting poured forward on every side.

"That we will, Elf, if you're such a glutton for punishment. Flagon of ale says I beat your count." Neither asked when, or how, they would claim it.

And then there was nothing but his emptying quiver and the singing of Lothlórien's great bow, as the sun rose blood-red into a dark sky, and the beleaguered Armies of the West began to fight and die.

***

" Mother, do sit down," Rowanna urged, trying to keep her rising irritation from mingling with the genuine concern in her words. "You only got up from your bed yesterday, and the Warden said you were not to overtax your strength –"

"I know what the Warden said!" Míranna flashed back. Sighing, she sank into the chair Rowanna pushed forward, and sat twisting her fingers to and fro. "I feel so strange - "

"Are you ill? Should I call a Healer?" Rowanna quickly put a hand to her mother's forehead, but it felt cool enough, although she noted with unease that there were fever-like spots of high colour in Míranna's cheeks.

"No, it's not that -" Míranna got up again and paced the little room in her agitation. "I can't be still, I don't know whether to laugh or cry -" She paused as she passed the window. "Take me into the garden."

"Oh, Mother, come -" Rowanna protested. "There's a bitter wind blowing this morning, and even if we begged enough shawls or cloaks to keep you warm, I am sure the Warden would say you should not attempt all those stairs -"

"Then could you not find a litter and two lads to carry me?" To Rowanna's alarm, her mother's eyes were pleading. "I do not know why, I would not keep within doors!"

_She'll make herself ill again with the agitation alone at this rate,_ her daughter thought, and sighed. "Wait here a little, Mother, I'll see what can be contrived."

Having the good fortune to find Narwen rather than Ioreth, Rowanna managed to circumvent the Warden; a little later she installed Míranna, well wrapped against the wind still blowing from the North, in the relative shelter of one of the alcoves in the evergreen hedge. _That next bench along, that's where_ – She swallowed hard on the lump in her throat which began to swell at the memory. _Don't think about it, don't, there's no use now..._ Briefly she touched the leaf-brooch fastening the grey cloak at her throat, her one talisman, and shivered as she drew the cloak more closely about her. "Are you sure you are warm enough?" she chided Míranna.

"I'm well enough, it's very sheltered here." Her mother was looking out southwards over the Anduin, not glittering now but as dull and grey as the surrounding plain under the leaden sky. "And thank you, my dear. I know the Warden would be unlikely to approve, but I needed fresher air. Come, sit by me?"

"All right, I - " Rowanna broke off, distracted by a flash of blue through the branches of the wind-tossed trees. Moving away from the hedge a little to see, she caught a glimpse of two people close together on the wall on the other side of the garden, one dark head and one fair, the latter figure wrapped in a midnight-blue cloak. _I hope they comfort one another_ , she thought, her heart aching. _They both have sore need -_

When she turned round, she found her mother getting up again. "You promised you would rest!"

"I can't sit still -" Míranna moved stiffly across to lean on her daughter. "I feel as though – we're all _waiting_. Something's going to happen. Can't you feel it?"

Suddenly Rowanna could; for at that moment, all about them became still. The wind died away in an instant; and yet, as though a cloud had crossed the sun, the light faded to grey, and the birds fell silent. Into the stillness came a low, distant rumble, greater than any thunder Rowanna had ever heard – or _felt_ ; for the ground itself began to shake and the walls of the garden to tremble. Beside her, Míranna let out a piercing cry and collapsed.

"Mother! _Mother!_ " Rowanna dropped to her knees even as the tremor subsided, feeling the earth beneath her settle as though it sighed in relief, and gathered her mother's head into her lap, frantically chafing her hands. "Oh Mother, please, no -"

"It's all right," Míranna murmured, her eyes flickering open. She began to push herself upright.

"Mother, don't, lie still - "

"No, it's _all right_ , dearest." Míranna sat up, and to her daughter's amazement she was smiling broadly and her eyes were dancing. "Don't you understand – don't you see?" She gestured all around, taking in the sun's sudden breaking through the clouds, Anduin sparkling once again like silver, the eruption of birdsong from the trees all about them, and the garden wall where two slender figures were wrapped in each other's arms, raven hair and golden whipping together in the fresh breeze which pulled at the dark-blue cloak. "I know not how, but I am certain – _everything_ is right!"

_Is it true?_ Rowanna took a shaky breath. _Could it be?.._ She fell into Míranna's waiting arms, as the sound of singing and shouts began to rise from the Houses behind them; and finding that she too knew not whether to laugh or weep, for a little while she did both.

***

Legolas stood amazed, his bow suddenly loose in his fingers, unheeding of the tears coursing down his cheeks. _They did it. At least one of them was not taken. They did it! Elbereth Gilthoniel, praise be..._

A roar from lower down the hill jolted him from his stillness.

"Don't just stand there, Elf – those Easterlings fight on yet!" Gimli was brandishing his great axe gleefully. "Forty-seven says that ale's mine!"

Legolas grinned wolfishly, sprinting downhill to join the Dwarf, and was reaching back into his quiver when a thought checked him.

"Gimli – where is Pippin?"

*******

**Author's Notes:**

"Queen of the Earth": _Kementári_ , one of the titles of Yavanna.

"Horror beyond sight": JRRT says in 'The Black Gate Opens' that after the second day of the march from the crossroads, the Nazgul shadowed the Armies of the West constantly, "high and out of sight of all save Legolas".

_Tâd_ = two.

For the fate of Oropher and his Silvan Elves in the War of the Last Alliance, see Appendix B to the _History of Galadriel and Celeborn_ in _Unfinished Tales_. Thranduil's survivor-guilt is my speculation (though his survival and leading his troops back is canon), but we do know from _The_ _Hobbit_ that he is capable of angry and unforgiving moods.

"Raven hair and golden" is such a near-direct steal from JRRT that I feel I ought to own up to its being his phrase, not mine.


	36. When Spring Unfolds the Beechen Leaf

"Mother, I'm back! ... _Another_ visitor?" Rowanna, ducking gladly from the blinding afternoon light of the Rath Míriel into the shade of the Annúmellyrn mansion's courtyard, could see nothing for a moment; but she recognised Míranna's voice in conversation with a deeper, unfamiliar one, and the clinking of glass and pouring of liquid.

It was over a fortnight since the momentous day when, after the earthquake and the darkening of the sun, a great Eagle had descended on the City with the news beyond anyone's hope; Sauron was defeated, the Dark Tower thrown down, and the King victorious. Only Pippin and Rowanna, it seemed, who knew full well that not even Aragorn could have broken the Black Gate by force of arms, had remained on tenterhooks.

"What of Frodo and Sam?" Merry had protested. "I heard the Eagle, he said nothing of Hobbits, or the Ring! They must have succeeded, they _must_ \- so why did he leave them out? Do you think they're..." He broke off, biting his knuckles. "And what of Gimli, and Legolas, and Pippin?"

"The Eagle could hardly list the armies man by man," Rowanna pointed out with a sigh. "We'll just have to wait, Merry, and hope..." Not for long; barely two days later a rider from Cair Andros had come flying across the Pelennor, and while the packet he brought with the King's seal contained primarily dispatches for Lord Húrin and the Marshal Elfhelm, there was a hasty note in Aragorn's hand addressed to Merry in person, which the Hobbit ripped open with scant regard for protocol.

"He says..." Merry could not scan the lines fast enough for Rowanna - "Frodo and Sam are alive - saved by the Eagles! - but very weak, and sleeping. Pippin - oh! Pippin killed a troll! Which fell on him, and he was injured, but will live. And Legolas and Gimli and Gandalf are alive and without a scratch!" He turned the parchment over. "And Elladan and Elrohir, and Éomer King, and the Lord Imrahil too -" but he got no further before Rowanna snatched the letter from him, stared at it blankly for a few seconds, then swept him into a hug which almost suffocated him.

"They're alive, Merry! They're _alive!..._ "

***

The White City basked in the warmth of rejoicing. Míranna grew so much stronger by the day that she soon insisted she and Rowanna must no longer take up the Houses' resources, especially since a number of the Healers had been called out to tend the wounded at the Cormallen encampment, and thus they had moved back to the family house on the Street of the Jewels. "I daresay we'll hear eventually from Cousin Adramir as to when he - or, if we're unlucky, just Ithildîs and the children - thinks of returning. If the rumours are true that the King intends to be crowned on May Day, then doubtless the good lady will not wish to miss _that_ glittering social occasion!" She snorted.

"No more would you!" Rowanna pointed out, grinning from ear to ear.

"Miss the Chieftain coming into his kingdom? What do you think?" her mother retorted. "But at least _I_ shall be looking at Aragorn, and not comparing my dress to anyone's around of similar rank! In any case, I was going to say that Cousin Adramir would not grudge us use of the house, indeed would probably rather it were occupied. There's no word yet of Líriel or any other of the servants, so we'll have to make shift for ourselves with perhaps a little help from young Bergil, but you and I can manage between us, can we not?"

So it was; and as the Gondorrim began to trickle back from the Southlands to their liberated City, and to enquire after kith and kin, somehow word had got about of Míranna's return, and various distant cousins and childhood friends had found their way up to the House of the Annúmellyrn. It seemed that Míranna's old predictions as to her name still being mud among the noble families of Minas Tirith, while they might have some truth among her husband's kin, did not apply on her own side of the family. This latest, Rowanna saw as her eyes finally adjusted to the courtyard's relative darkness, was a suntanned man perhaps a few years older than she, with a long silvered scar down his left cheek.

"Come and sit down, my dear, and have a cool drink," her mother called, "and let me introduce our guest - Pennastir, my daughter Rowanna; Rowanna, this is Adramir's brother Pennastir, who is just up from Dol Amroth."

Pennastir got to his feet and bowed; though Rowanna caught a disconcerted flicker when she put out her hand rather than curtseying, he covered his confusion at once, shook hands robustly, and moved to pour her some cordial as she sank gratefully on to a shaded bench.

"In quieter times, we'd have ice from above the snow-line to chill drinks when the weather begins to warm," he remarked, "but I daresay the ice-carriers are all occupied elsewhere just now! I apologise if I seem to impose, cousin Rowanna; I would normally stay at the house in any case when I come up to the City, but Adra had particularly asked me to see whether it still stood, and to find your mother if I could and send word of how she fared."

"Pennastir captains the _Sea-mew_ in Prince Imrahil's navy," Míranna explained; "he's served under the Prince for many years -"

"Unlike Adra," grinned their guest, "who let Ithildîs talk him out of it for far too long, so he's but a lieutenant - not under my command, to his relief and mine! Though I don't know how much longer, if peace comes, I shall be able to keep at sea..."

"But Gondor will still need its navy, surely?" Rowanna frowned.

"Surely," Pennastir agreed, "but were it not for the dark times we've been living in, I might have had to resign my commission this last year, to be nearer home. You see my wife, Almiel, was thrown from a horse a twelvemonth ago -" he grimaced " - and broke her back."

"I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Rowanna, wincing in her turn.

"Lucky she wasn't killed," Pennastir admitted, "and with the care of Gondor's best surgeons she has recovered as well as we could have asked, but they say she is unlikely ever to walk again. So she can do little for herself; and as we have three boys - nine, seven and four -" his face softened unconsciously into a smile - "although we have excellent nursemaids, and Almiel manages to be a wonderful mother even from her couch, she would rather I were at home more. So it may be the sea will henceforth see less of me," he finished with a sigh.

"Do you stay long in the City?" Rowanna enquired.

"A week or two at least, I should think. I bore dispatches to my lord Imrahil from his second-in-command; and as I gather the Prince is yet out at the Field of Cormallen with the army, I must wait at least for them to reach him, along with everything else he is dealing with from a distance, and to receive his considered replies."

"That might be timely!" Rowanna exclaimed. "Mother - when I went up to the Houses just now to see Merry, he had a letter from Pippin. He says that Samwise and Frodo are recovered, and awake, and he himself is out of bed, and they want Merry and me to go out to Cormallen; for it will be some weeks yet before the army embarks for Minas Tirith. I had thought to say I could not go, for I wouldn't have left you alone; but if Pennastir is to be here -"

"I have no intention of burdening Pennastir," Míranna objected, "for I am perfectly well enough now to look after myself with Bergil running errands! Though I agree, it would be best to have someone else in the house overnight -"

"I expect to be largely at leisure while I wait my lord's responses," agreed Pennastir, "though I have a few messages and commissions to discharge in Minas Tirith, else I might have tried to speed the process by coming out to Cormallen myself. It would be my pleasure to be at Lady Míranna's service should she have need..."

"Settled, then," finished Míranna contentedly. "You, Rowanna, had better pack a saddlebag or two! When do you leave?.."

"Merry goes tomorrow. He will go with the supply wagons, but I wonder - perhaps I could ride! At least as far as Osgiliath; from what I've heard, after that the supplies go north to Cair Andros by water, so if I wanted to stay with Merry I'd have to leave a mount there. Maybe I could even take Gelion - he's the horse I brought here from the North, Pennastir - I lent him to the Steward's errand-riders, but when I last went to the stables two days ago he was there, being rested. I'll go up and ask in a while..."

Taking her leave of Pennastir and Míranna a little later, she climbed to the next Circle, and found Harnacar the stablemaster looking over the latest list of requests and requisitions. Gelion was delighted to see her, especially when his hopeful sniffing at her pocket yielded the apple she had made sure to bring in case of seeing him.

"You're welcome to take him," Harnacar agreed, "he's yours, after all, though we've been grateful for the loan of him. How long do you stay at Cormallen?" When Rowanna admitted she had little idea, he looked thoughtful. "Well, how's this - you leave him at Osgiliath, with instructions that if you're not back in a week, and I send for him, he can be ridden by another in the meantime. Then if you come later back to Osgiliath and he's not there, I'll tell the garrison they're to find you another decent mount that I've asked for, and you ride that one back here for me. Will that serve?"

"Very well, Master Harnacar," Rowanna agreed cheerfully. "Is there any of his gear I need replace?" Assured there was not, she left Gelion with an affectionate scratch between the ears, and the promise of an early start on the morrow. She was crossing the stable-yard when movement out of one of the stalls caught the corner of her eye; and though there was, as she told herself, currently no shortage of burly blond Eorlingas around Minas Tirith, there was something familiar -

" _B_ _é_ _odred?..."_

She was right; the bulky figure stopped in his tracks, looking round. She strode across to him smiling broadly.

"Béodred, of all the places to find you!" She moved to hug him before she remembered that this might be less than kind; and indeed he had stepped back a little, and was hastily offering her a hand to shake. "I would ask what you are doing here, but that's plain enough! - you ride under Elfhelm?.."

He nodded, smiling now in his turn. "I signed up to my lord Théodred's company when I came back from... the North; but after Isen - you know about Isen?" She nodded. "all the _éoreds_ had to be remade, we'd lost so many, horses and riders both. So I came under Elfhelm to the relief of the Pelennor, and then we were sent north up the West-road when Éomer King went east with the Gondorrim. What of you - did you find Lady Míranna?..."

"You knew - "

"I'd heard from Mistress Edyth before we rode to Isen that your mother had been treated badly back in Edoras, and that she'd set off back to Mundburg. But I'd no idea you'd followed her!..."

"I didn't reach Edoras till after Isen. It's a long story - can you come tonight, eat with us? We're in the House of the Annúmellyrn, in the Street of the Jewels - "

He shook his great blond mane regretfully. "Drill tonight till dark, by the Marshal's orders, and then we've our mounts to see to; I could try to get leave, but I don't know if he'd grant it. Why not tomorrow?"

"I'm off tomorrow morning, for a week or perhaps more; I'm summoned out to the Field of Cormallen..."

" _You_ are?" Béodred frowned suddenly. "To the encampment? Why?..."

"To see - oh, of course, you didn't know, you'd left Rivendell by then! The Hobbits, Sam and Frodo, and -"

" _Rivendell._ " The Rohir was scowling openly now. "I might have known. This Fellowship everyone's talking of, Elves and Dwarves and I don't know what, it set out from Rivendell, didn't it? Don't tell me you were mixed up in it?"

"Not directly, I - oh, I can't begin to explain now! When I get back, you must dine with us, and I'll tell you the whole story. Or do come and see Mother, while I'm away - she'd love to know you're safe -"

"I'd like to see your mother." Béodred ran a hand through his mop of hair. "But do you have to go out to Cormallen tomorrow? - why not wait a day? What's the rush?..."

"No, I have to go! - well, I'm riding with someone on the wagons -" Rowanna sighed. "Béodred, I'll tell you all when I'm back, but -" she gripped his arm urgently - "there _is_ something you need to know. About Dirgon..."

His irritation melted away: he looked at her intently. "What about Dirgon?"

The words caught in her throat. _Poor Dirgon, all he ever did was keep faith..._ "Dirgon.. is dead. Orcs ambushed us on the way south, on our way across the Wold. He took a knife in the back almost before we knew they were there. It - it was a swift death, I saw him fall..."

"Dirgon." Béodred shook his head. "I.." He exhaled sharply in frustration. "I _will_ go and see Lady Míranna, while you're... away. Street of the Jewels, you said? What Circle's that?" She told him; he nodded curtly "Send word when you're back," turned on his heel and disappeared into the tackroom.

_Oh, my stars._ Rowanna bit her lip. _So much has happened, but that does not give me leave to forget! Poor Dirgon._ She sighed again, cast one glance back over her shoulder at the tackroom, and walked slowly back down, remembering, to the Rath Míriel.

***

Gelion pranced and tossed his head the following morning as Rowanna walked him out on to the Pelennor to meet Merry and the long line of wains taking supplies to Cormallen. "I know, you've been spoilt rotten by Harnacar for the last week, and now you want a gallop!" she scolded, reining him in gently. "Well, we're only going to Osgiliath, and with the wagons at that - so I think you and I must race on ahead and then back again, if we're going to get you anything like enough exercise!"

"You look as though you both enjoyed that!" Merry observed some time later as Rowanna, having been as good as her word and galloped Gelion to the out-wall and back, fell into a trot alongside his wagon.

"I'm not sure which of us needed it more!" Rowanna agreed breathlessly, twisting her unruly hair back into its leather tie. "Gelion has been eating his head off up on the Sixth, I think, and I - oh, Merry, I feel as though I've been indoors and within walls forever! _This_ is so much better!" She gestured all across the Pelennor to the wide open sky. "I was never made for life in a city - I don't know what to do with myself if I can't get out for a gallop every day!"

"I don't know if I could live in Minas Tirith forever either," Merry agreed. "Not that I need the galloping! But I need my trees, and my sky, like you - Hobbits love our cosy smials and hobbit-holes, but we're never happy far from the outdoors for long."

He began a complicated tale of Brandy Hall, which Rowanna gathered was the Brandybuck ancestral residence, and they ambled along chatting happily. At Osgiliath they found a hive of steady activity. The wharves and pontoon bridges largely wrecked by the Enemy's troops before the assault on Minas Tirith had been repaired, and work was beginning on the ancient stone bridge which - Faramir had told them - had been destroyed under him and Boromir the previous summer when Sauron had suddenly put forth in great strength. All along the riverside supply ships were being loaded with bread, meat, cheese, ale, and bales of tent-canvas from wagons like theirs.

"How many days does it take, up the river?" Merry asked curiously, as he and Rowanna showed their notes of passage from the Steward's clerk, and were handed on board one of the barges and invited to make themselves comfortable as they could on some of the sacks of grain loaded at the stern. The bargee flashed them the grin of a man whose trade had unexpectedly trebled, and who was making the most of it while it lasted.

"A day or two, depending on the currents and the wind," he explained as he cast off the stern line, gesturing to his boy to do the same at the bow. "Less than a day when you come back downstream. Going up, if you have to row, two or even more; but you're in luck. The wind's steady from the South, so we'll have the sails up, and we should make Cair Andros by tomorrow afternoon, which puts you at Cormallen before nightfall. Perhaps 'tis true what they say - even the weather's set fairer now we're to have a King again!" He roared with laughter and, taking up his station at the wheel, emulated Merry in filling his pipe.

***

The wind did indeed continue favourable, and the barge-captain was clearly anxious to make the most of the available work by getting his consignment to Cair Andros as quickly as possible; for he and his lad took turns manning the wheel most of the night with lanterns at bow and stern, while Merry and Rowanna slept on improvised beds of grain-sacks and blankets, lulled by the barge's steady movement upstream. Thus it was not much past noon on the following day when they were carefully steered around the southern tip of the great island in the river, and moored up where they were instructed at brand-new wharves which were crowded with ships, and as hectic with activity as those at Osgiliath had been.

"Have you got everything, Merry?" Rowanna enquired as they gathered packs and cloaks and prepared, with many thanks to the bargee and his boy, to disembark. "You've not forgotten your pipe?"

"It's here - and so is the extra pouch of pipeweed from Isengard," the Hobbit assured her, checking his pockets for at least the third time. "I thought I'd better bring more, and a spare pipe - goodness knows whether poor old Pippin's will have survived intact, being crushed under the weight of a troll! I'm sure he would have had it with him, he's never without it if he can help it." His face fell for a moment. "Mind you, do you suppose he's allowed to smoke? His letter said something about aching ribs - if his chest was injured then maybe Strider won't let him till he's healed! I mean Aragorn - I mean the King - oh, confound it!"

"I wouldn't worry, Merry," Rowanna laughed as she stepped down onto the wharf. " _No_ \- wait for the captain to lift you, you shouldn't jump with your arm still in a sling! It's not like Aragorn to mind which of his many names or titles you address him by - he'll be too pleased to see you to care..."

"Not as pleased as I shall be to see him, and Pippin, and all of them!" Merry retorted, as he was helped up into an ox-cart which was to take them, and the now-familiar sacks, onwards to the Field of Cormallen. "I wish we had Shadowfax to ride on, instead of a plodding old cart - no offence, master," he added hastily to the ox-driver who was vaulting up on to the wagon - "now that we're nearly there, I feel as though I can't bear to wait a moment longer! It seems _years_ since last I saw Frodo and Sam, and - and I thought I was never going to see them again..."

"I know exactly what you mean, Merry," Rowanna agreed, struggling to check the wave of impatient emotion rising within her. _Never mind Shadowfax, if only I had_ _ **any**_ _horse!_ "I could gallop the whole way..." _And then make a spectacle of myself in front of a thousand Men by flinging myself into Legolas' arms_ , she added silently, _and not care a bit. Oh, Powers, let it not be far!_

She almost forgot her impatience, however, as the ox-cart ambled away from Cair Andros, following the course of a little stream which rippled its way past them towards Anduin.

"Oh, Merry, look!" All about them spread miles of lush meadow, scattered with spring flowers in purples and reds, studded here and there with mature oak trees. "Isn't it beautiful! - it reminds me of the Eastemnet, in the Riddermark..." _Look at this grassland, it's perfect grazing, and there's shade, and water..._ "Why isn't Gondor breeding horses here, instead of trading for yearlings with Rohan?" she wondered aloud, and then answered her own question. "Oh - of course, too close to Mordor, I suppose, the wrong side of the river. Especially given that orcs _eat_ horseflesh!" She and Merry shuddered in joint disgust. "But now..."

"Look!" Merry had got to his feet, clutching the side of the rocking ox-cart, and was pointing ahead. "There it is!" Rowanna whipped round; yes, there half a mile or so ahead there were surely tents dotting the grass, and here and there threads of smoke rising. She fought the impulse to leap down from the cart, abandoning the Hobbit, and run every yard.

The encampment was huge, they realised as they drew closer; "well, it's a good few thousand Men, I suppose," Merry admitted. Guards in the silver and black of the Citadel were patrolling the perimeter; the carter clearly knew the layout well, for he had hauled on the reins and pointed his team away towards one corner. "I'm bound over yonder, where they receive the stores," he called over his shoulder. "D'you want to hop down here, save yourselves the walk, and ask one of these sentry-lads where you should go?" They did not need telling twice; Rowanna had flung her pack to the ground, vaulted over the tail-gate, and was reaching up to help the eager Merry.

"Our earnest thanks, sir, and good day to you!" the Hobbit called after the carter, who lifted a hand in salute as he clicked to move his beasts on. "Now, Rowanna, where -" She was already marching purposefully to petition one of the perimeter guards; he inspected their permissions, looking curiously at the Halfling, and nodded.

"Keep those by you, in case you're asked to show them again. Do you know where you're bound?" They shook their heads. "We're looking for our friends, Frodo and Samwise -" Merry began.

"The Ring-bearers?" The sentry stopped talking over the Hobbit's head, and bent to address him directly. "Of course, your pardon, my lord - you must be Master Meriadoc of the Shire? The Dwimmerlaik-slayer? 'Tis an honour, sir... You see that opening in the trees up ahead there, looks almost an archway? Go through that way, you'll come to a greensward where the stream runs down, and if you follow that up towards the beech-groves you'll find the King's pavilion, flying the black pennant. The _Cormacolindor_ are usually resting there about this time, or if they aren't one of the royal guard will likely know where they're to be found." He bowed deeply to Merry, causing Rowanna a small smile of satisfaction as the two of them adjusted their packs and set off towards the trees.

Following the course of the stream they passed between neatly aligned rows of tents, with smoke from small cooking-fires here and there rising between. "Mmm - do you smell that?" Merry nudged Rowanna. "Someone's stewing mushrooms!" Forced to hold her impatient stride in check so that she did not outpace the Hobbit, she took the time to look about her instead; they passed a little knot of men scrubbing linen at the water's edge, who glanced up at them curiously. Around them rose and fell murmurs of conversation, the scraping of blade on whetstone, steady thuds as mallets drove yet more tentpegs into the ground. A little further off Rowanna noticed a group of tents set slightly apart, flying pennants whose emblem she recognised from the Houses; _the Healers,_ she realised.

And then they had passed through the opening on to the long green lawn the sentry had described; for a moment Rowanna thought the branches around were hung with banners, before she realised the rich colour came from bright scarlet blossom bedecking the dark leaves of the trees. She was striding up the field now, but no matter, for Merry had already broken into a trot and was more than keeping pace; at the top of the greensward the strange dark-leaved trees gave way to the familiar paler green of beeches in new leaf, and - yes! a little group of tents, the largest flying the Crown and Stars, a pair of sentries outside. Set in a half-circle off to one side, beneath the shade of the beech-boughs, were three low daybeds, and between them, seated one on a small stool and the other comfortably cross-legged on the grass -

Legolas must have heard them first, for he was on his feet in an instant; but it was Sam who cried out, "Master Merry! Mistress Rowanna!", and Merry who rushed forward to turn the daybeds into a chaos of hugs and shouts and indistinguishable curly heads. Rowanna quickened her pace, smiling on the Hobbits even as a lump rose in her throat at the sight of them all; then looked up - and suddenly found herself rooted to the spot.

_What if he - What if it's not -_

For Legolas too had stopped dead, at the edge of the ring of tents, gazing at her. For a long moment, as Merry and Pippin's exclamations faded into the background, only the breeze whispered in the beech-leaves.

"I...thought never to set eyes on you again," Legolas said at last. Tentatively, he raised a hand towards her as though to assure himself she was flesh and blood.

"Nor I... _oh -"_ And then they did run; she felt the tears start to her eyes, and she flung herself into his embrace as he lifted her off her feet, spinning her around as she laughed and wept for the sheer unbelievable relief. At last he put her carefully down, his mouth on hers for just a moment, and through the swift intense kiss she felt his answering surge of impossible, wordless joy. She twined her fingers tightly with his, looking into clear blue eyes that danced with delight, and let him lead her back into the circle of the Fellowship.

*******

**Author's Notes:  
**

_Cormacolindor_ = Ringbearers.

The description of the geography of Cormallen (but not of the encampment, which characteristically JRRT leaves out altogether!) is taken from _LoTR_ Book Six Chapter IV, _The Field of Cormallen_.


	37. In This Far Land Beneath The Trees

The company had been sitting for an hour or so talking and laughing, the Hobbits with their pipes, when a guard in black and silver approached and made a neat bow. "Your pardon, my lords, my lady; the King requests the presence of the Lady Rowanna and Master Meriadoc, at your convenience."

"That's good," urged Pippin, "at least it means Aragorn will take a rest for a while from dispatches and petitions and I don't know what. We've barely seen him since Sam and Frodo awoke! Give him our best - ask him whether he'll come to supper with us tonight..."

Chuckling, Merry and Rowanna followed the guard across the grove to the tent which flew the Crown and Stars. Slipping inside at his gesture, they waited to be announced; for Aragorn, seated on a sawn-off treetrunk at a large wooden table, was deep in conversation with Prince Imrahil who stood at his shoulder. Spread before them on the table was a map, which Aragorn was periodically jabbing with his quill as they talked; his fingertips were inky and as he distractedly pushed the dishevelled black locks back from his face, Rowanna realised why his brow was equally ink-stained. The table was a chaos of papers; off to one side, at a smaller desk, sat a harassed-looking young man with his own inkwell, quill and stack of parchments, in his case neatly aligned. At Aragorn's other elbow was another, smaller table bearing a wine-flask, a couple of beakers and a long-stemmed pipe.

"...don't know yet is how Harad will respond, and we're in no position at this point to send ambassadors. Did we get any answer back from Faramir about Denethor's agents?"

"Not yet, but there I may be able to assist; my armsmaster..." Since the guard was clearly of no mind to interrupt such strategic discussion, Rowanna let her eyes wander. The King's spartan quarters took little time to examine. A curtain cut off an alcove behind Aragorn which she assumed to be his bedroom; other than the tables and their improvised wooden seats, the rough canvas which covered the floor, and a great black-and-silver standard which stood carefully propped against one of the poles - _I recognise that!_ Rowanna realised with a jolt. _That's what Arwen was stitching all those months ago in Rivendell!_ \- the tent was empty. Eventually Aragorn passed a scribbled set of notes to the young man at the other desk, who spread out his own parchment and set to work with care; then the King sighed, stretched, and at last looked up.

"Merry - Rowanna! Your pardon!" He twisted in his seat. "Does that give you enough to make progress, Imrahil?"

"Undoubtedly, my liege. I shall let you know if I hear anything further from my nephew." With a brief acknowledgement to Aragorn, and a courteous nod to the waiting pair, the Prince of Dol Amroth gathered his dispatches and withdrew, followed a moment later, at a murmur from his lord, by the scribe.

_I don't know how to behave!_ Rowanna realised, with a momentary flash of panic. _Do we kneel? Bow? - I can hardly curtsey in breeches!_ Fortunately, as she and Merry began to step forward Aragorn was already unfolding his long legs from beneath the table.

"Chieftain - Sire.."

" _Chieftain_ I might grant you," came the wry response, "but King I am not, officially, yet - and in any case this is, I am glad to say, decidedly a private audience. Merry, Rowanna - how are you? It is good to see you!" And the uncrowned King Elessar of Arnor and Gondor strode across his tent and enfolded them both in a bearhug. "Fares the Lady Míranna well? Merry, how is that arm? And can either of you shed any light on the rumours that my Steward is taking a particularly, shall we say, _personal_ interest in the healing and recovery of the White Lady of Rohan?.."

He motioned them each to a seat on one of the tree-trunks, and reached for his pipe. "Cousin - you will pardon Merry and me if we smoke? Imrahil is too correct to say so to his liege lord but I know he dislikes it, so I have been refraining, and it has been a _long_ day..."

They were still taking it in turns to inform Aragorn on the more domestic details of Minas Tirith life which, as he ruefully said, none of his conscientious dispatches from Faramir or Húrin contained, when a rustle behind them announced the entry of a somewhat portly official in a blue sash. "The camp quartermaster," Aragorn explained. "What is it, Glavradîr?"

"Your pardon, my liege, but as they are here with you I thought it opportune to inform the Lady Rowanna and Master Meriadoc of their billets," the quartermaster explained. "Master Meriadoc can be easily enough accommodated with Master Peregrin and the Ringbearers, as I gather is their wish -"

"I imagine it is, though Mithrandir will have something to say if he feels that the resulting excitement is hindering the recovery of his charges!" Aragorn observed. "And?.."

"And it has, of course, been necessary to find space for the lady in the women's quarters on the northeast side," Glavradîr went on. "If her ladyship wishes to be escorted thither later I will gladly find -"

"Women's quarters?" Rowanna broke in, startled. "You mean - when Merry and I have travelled all the way from Minas Tirith for the sole purpose of being reunited with our friends, you would pitch me a tent on the other side of the encampment?.." She turned in consternation to Aragorn who, out of view of the quartermaster, permitted himself a barely-detectable roll of the eyes.

"Master Glavradîr has, I fear, been given strict instructions with regards to decorum," the King explained solemnly. "Entirely for reasons of military discipline, of course - after all, we are still officially on campaign. Forgive me the inconvenience, cousin, but if you do not object -"

Rowanna sighed. _Clearly I cannot object without being thought at best wildly eccentric, and at worst a harlot!_   "It seems less than necessary to trek all the way across the encampment daily merely for the purpose of sleeping, Sire, but I shall if nothing else get plenty of exercise. Perhaps I should have brought Gelion up here after all!"

_***_

"It does seem foolish," Pippin grumbled a little later when Rowanna and Merry had rejoined him. Gimli had declared his intention of walking over to the forge; Sam and Frodo were sleeping, and so the four remaining had moved a little further from the daybeds and sat against the trunk of a red-blossomed tree, the westering sunlight warm on their faces. "After all, we sent for you and Merry to come all the way out here because we didn't want to wait weeks to see you, and now some sour-faced Man says you have to trek every night across to the far side of the encampment - just because of what some Big People who don't know any of us think is proper?.."

"I don't suppose Aragorn would want to change the rules just for Rowanna, though, that wouldn't seem fair," Merry pointed out. "If the captains say the womenfolk must be billeted apart, to keep good order -"

"The commanders did have to decide last week what to do about it," Pippin admitted. "Beregond told me - some of the wives were sending from Minas Tirith wanting to know if they could come out to their menfolk. But the company captains said no, they'd have sweethearts and doxies all over the place swearing they were married women, and the captains would start having to rule on whether they were really their troops' wives or not, and it would start ill feeling and bad order and I don't know what. I suppose they were right. So they decided the other way around - married and family men could apply to their commander for leave to return to Minas Tirith, and if they were no longer needed for any of the expeditions into Mordor or Ithilien then they'd be let go. Beregond thought about going, but he wasn't really fit for a long wagon-ride, and besides he said Bergil would be most indignant that his father thought he needed nursemaiding!"

"That's almost certainly true," Rowanna put in with a chuckle. "If anything, he has been enjoying taking care of Mother for me!"

"So the only women in camp are among the Healers, or the cooks, or have some other job to do," Pippin explained. "And have been given their own quarters. But I still think it's ridiculous to make Rowanna walk all that way every day just to go and sleep somewhere else - don't you?" He looked enquiringly round the circle.

"Among my people," offered Legolas, "honour resides in our actions, not in whether or not we attract the gossip of others' tongues - and it would be what lay in your soldiers' and their women's hearts, not rites or ceremonies, that would determine whether they were wed. But I have seen enough of mortals to know that their customs are altogether strange to me!..."

"As strange as the Elves' would be to them," Rowanna laughed. "Ah well - I shall not lack for opportunities to stretch my legs for the next few days, at any rate! Aragorn promised that Prince Imrahil would get word to me when he has answered the dispatches from Dol Amroth, so I'll know when I must start back for Minas Tirith. My worry now is - must I needs have an occupation to prevent Glavradîr banishing me from the encampment altogether? I am no healer and I feel no great desire to volunteer as a laundry-maid!"

"I'm not sure they have any," Merry retorted, "don't you remember seeing those soldiers washing their own linen in the stream as we came by earlier?"

"Beregond says that's how you tell the difference between the seasoned troops and the raw recruits, here in camp," added Pippin. "The old campaigners are all well used to looking after themselves, and can cook and wash and keep their own gear spotless. When you see a captain haranguing a man for a stained shirt, you can be sure he's never had to wash it himself before - no wonder some of the Men were so keen to get their wives out here on the next wagon if they could!"

"Talking of cooking," his cousin broke through the general laughter, "the sun is nearly down. What does one do in this place about dinner?.."

***

The long, golden days unrolled lazily on the Field of Cormallen. Aside from the basic activities needed to keep the camp in good order, and the minimum of drill required to keep the men active and their weapons readied, the captains demanded little of the troops other than rest. Not all were yet returned; the detachments sent against the remnants of the Easterling and Southron troops had needed some days to subdue them, and when Rowanna asked after Elladan and Elrohir she discovered that they had insisted on leading the expedition into Mordor itself to storm Sauron's northern fortresses. _Of course - I can't see them resting while a single orc remains alive!_

"So did you find out what the trees are called, Sam?" Rowanna enquired as she steadily stroked the blade of her knife along her whetstone. "The ones with the scarlet blossom, I mean?" They were sitting companionably in the shade of the beeches at the edge of the grove, the distant music of the falls of Henneth Annûn in their ears; Sam had an eye to the stewpot hanging above his neatly-assembled cooking fire, where chunks of the fish Rowanna had caught and gutted were simmering.

" _Culumalda_ , one of Captain Faramir's rangers told me," the Hobbit responded, giving the fish stew a stir. "Field of Cormallen's named for 'em, seemingly. He says later in the year they have tiny berries red as rubies; makes a lovely juice, good for the blood, so his sister who's a Healer would have it. Wouldn't know about that, but they're lovely, en't they?"

"That they are, Sam." Legolas' voice drifted down from the beech-canopy. "I fear they are too much lovers of southern heat to flourish back in your Shire, though; any hint of frost I think would finish them..."

"And how long have you been up there, may I ask?" Rowanna laughed, testing the blade of her knife cautiously with her thumb and returning it to its sheath at her belt. "I thought you were with Aragorn?"

"So I was, till he had business with Éomer," the Elf replied as he dropped lightly from the branch to sit with his back to the trunk, "and until the savour of that pot drifted over on the breeze! Where did you find the _celonuil_?" As they looked blank, he picked up a cluster of leaves from the small pile waiting on Sam's bit of sacking and looked at it speculatively.

"Hey!" the Hobbit protested. "'Don't you go pinching my garnish, Master Elf! Watercress, it's rightly called, and you can go and find your own! It's growing wild a little further up the stream there where it broadens out at the turn. My Aunty May used to grow it in beds along o' the Bywater Pool back home." He looked wistful for a moment. "Lovely peppery flavour it has too, just right to liven up a stew like this. I picked a tidy bit while Mistress Rowanna was tickling the trout out of the pool."

"We thought we'd try to tempt Frodo's appetite a little more," Rowanna explained, leaning back contentedly against Legolas. "Sam thinks he's still too thin -"

"So he is, for a self-respectin' Hobbit," Sam grumbled. "and very fond of watercress Master Frodo always was, too, back in the day. So don't you go scoffing of it all!"

"Forgive me, Sam, I did not mean to tease." The Elf looked grave. "I know you worry yet for Frodo. And if the smell of that stew does not tempt him to eat, then nothing will!"

***

"If I sit here any longer I'm going to fall asleep," Rowanna murmured a little later. "Sam, that was delicious - leave the pot, I'll clean it for you later. But for now, I'm going for a walk; anyone else?.."

"The only way to round off a meal like that," said Merry contentedly, "is with a pipe in the sun. Frodo? Gimli?"

"Gladly," rumbled the Dwarf, reaching into his jerkin. "Have you any Longbottom Leaf left?.."

"That settles it," retorted the Elf, rising to his feet and reaching out a hand to Rowanna. "A walk it is." They wandered away across the greensward, leaving Gimli and the Hobbits to converse, smoke and eventually doze.

"To the river?" Legolas enquired as they passed beneath the arch of _culumalda_ and into the main encampment. Overhead, a pair of buzzards circled lazily in the warm updraughts.

"I thought I might go across to the horses," Rowanna offered. "One of the Eorlingas I crossed paths with on my way up this morning said that some of the beasts, Riders' and Swan Knights', are in a bad way yet; _hildegefetorde..._ She frowned. "I don't know how you'd say it in the Grey Tongue. In the Common - War-fettered?.."

He nodded. "I have seen it. The physical wounds are healing; your countrymen know their business, and the knights of Dol Amroth also. But what their mounts endured before the Gate that day... to lift that darkness takes more than common skill."

"I...know." Rowanna spoke very quietly, and through their joined hands he felt her shiver. He checked his stride and drew her close, out of the trackway between the lines of tents.

"Do you wish to? - Are you sure?..." She nodded, her chin coming up.

"Perhaps I can help. And if not... Legolas, this is what I do, have done half my life. If I cannot any longer stand before a nervy horse and calm her, if I can't put away my own fear...then I need to know." He nodded, squeezing her hand. They went on, skirting the edge of the camp, to the area close to the trees where paddocks had been marked out with rope and wooden fencing. Legolas frowned.

"I still find it strange to see them thus enclosed."

"So is it strange to the Riders, in the normal course of things," Rowanna insisted. "But at home the _éoreds_ run their beasts in herds, each with their head mare and their stallion; here after the battle they must be all mingled, and the Swan Knights' warhorses too, and then those that are injured... I can understand why they need the fences." And indeed, as they approached they saw that the roan mare nearest them was in a large pen apart, with a mule grazing peacefully in one corner. "She can see the others, and smell them, but she can't get to them," Rowanna pointed out.

"I've watched her a good deal these last few days," Legolas said softly, as they drew to a halt a little way away in the shadow of the trees. "See her flank, there?" He tilted his head, and Rowanna winced as she followed his gaze. Long, livid scars ran in parallel across the mare's flesh.

"Are those -" He nodded.

" _Nazgûl_. Just before the Eagles descended; I saw the poor beast. She threw her Rider, managed somehow not to tread on him, and took off halfway across the Dagorlad. They must have caught her later. They can't pen her with others, she's a bundle of nerves - though the mule keeps her company, and takes no notice of her jinks. See - here the Rider comes..."

He was little more than a boy, for all he had the Eorling height and bulk. Moving cautiously, singing softly to his mare as he came, he slid in through the pen's gate and stood a while leaning against the fence, apparently looking across to the other horses. Eventually, always side on to the mare, he took a few steps closer to her, then more, holding a hand out low towards her; but she only shifted uneasily and huffed. The Rider bit his lip.

"Poor lad," Rowanna whispered into Legolas' ear. "He does everything right, and yet -"

"She nearly came to him, yesterday," the Elf murmured. "Day after day he's been thus patient with her. He is almost there..."

As they watched, the mare's flattened ears came forward just a little. They heard her nicker.

"Go on," breathed Rowanna. " _Good_ girl..."

And then, high above them, one of the buzzards let out a long, grating scream. The mare threw her head up in terror: her eyes rolled white and she snorted violently. Trying to scramble backwards she came up against the fencing, panicked and reared. Caught unawares, the Rider tried to move in to her shoulder, but misjudged it; as the mare came down he caught a blow in the chest from a flailing hoof that sent him reeling back, winded, into the fence.

Legolas leapt for the gate; but it was Rowanna who got through it first. _Wait!_ Legolas almost cried in his stab of alarm, watching her step sideways in towards the mare; and then bit off the cry, and ran instead to steady the stunned Eorling and sit him gently down out of range, forcing himself to stand still and watch.

Rowanna was still some yards from the mare, waiting, watchful. Head tilted a little on one side, she said something softly in, Legolas assumed, Rohirric: paused; spoke again. The horse was no longer rearing or backing up, but she was still shifting from foot to foot, and the Elf could see her trembling. _I could -_ He breathed out slowly, forcing himself to stillness.

Rowanna went on crooning. For a long moment, nothing seemed to change. Then Legolas felt the shift; the mare's ears slowly relaxed, then came forward a little. She huffed a breath which was almost a question. Rowanna spoke again, and made a gesture which the watching Elf and Rohir could only half see. The mare took a step forwards, then another. Legolas felt the boy beside him tense. _Rohiril, remember -_ Then Rowanna made a tiny jerk of her head, unnoticed he thought by the Rider; the roan changed direction and stepped cautiously, delicately, across the paddock towards them. As the Rohir scrambled to his feet, she came to him and nuzzled into his outstretched hand; then she lifted her head and the pair of them, nose to nose, exchanged a breath as gentle as a kiss. Behind him, Rowanna sent Legolas a delighted smile which made his heart dance.

When the Rider turned back to Rowanna, eyes suspiciously bright, colour burned in his cheeks; the question he aimed at her, though the Elf understood it not, sounded like a challenge. Whatever the mortal woman said, though, must have calmed him. They spoke a few words more and he turned his attention back to his mount. Only then, as Rowanna came back to him at the gate, did Legolas notice that she was trembling almost as much as the mare had been. Swiftly, he folded her in his arms and held her tightly. " _Mae agorech, melethen. Mae agorech..."_

As they slipped out of the pen Riders began to surround them talking excitedly; there was much gesturing towards the mare, and he thought he caught Rowanna's name. _Of course, Elladan said she and the Man she worked with were well known -_ "She needs rest now," he said firmly, hoping that enough of them understood Westron. "Let be, my friends." Keeping his arm around Rowanna's shoulders he nodded to the Rohirrim, who stared curiously as they stepped aside to give the pair passage, and he steered her carefully away, past the rest of the paddocks and away into the shelter of the trees. Not until they were out of sight and hearing of the Riders did Rowanna collapse against his shoulder and begin to sob.

" _Sidh, sidh,"_ he murmured. " _Tolo an sirith..."_ Down by the stream, he moved to sit her down against a treetrunk; but she shook her head, scrubbing at her reddened eyes and the dust across her face kicked up by the mare.

"I need to wash." She crouched down at the water's edge and he heard splashing; he hung back till she turned around, drying her face on her shirtsleeves. "And _this_ -" She groaned as she pushed her hair back from her neck and found the wreck of her braid spilling out in all directions.

"Let me," he offered, drawing her down to sit in front of him at the tree's root. He unwound the binding and carefully began to part the tangled remains of her plait; she heaved one deep comforted sigh, and relaxed against him without demur. As he combed the heavy thickness of the black hair rhythmically through his fingers he began to hum softly. _Silver flow the streams from Celos to Erui, in the green fields of Lebennin, in the wind from the Sea..._ He did not realise he was singing the words aloud, until she asked,

"Is it very bad, now?..."

"Is wh - oh." He thought for a moment. "It is - more distant, here, I think; it ebbs and flows. It does not rend me in two as it did in Minas Tirith when the gulls cried. And yet - it is always there, somewhere; a faint melancholy roar, far off, whenever I stop to listen for it. I will never be free of it again, for now it is woven into my part in the Song; and I do not know if I would be without it - even if I could..." The distant call of the surf was rising within him even as he spoke, his breath coming shorter; hastily he buried his face in Rowanna's neck, inhaling the scents of soaproot and mint with which she had washed her hair the day before, until the tide receded and he was anchored once more.

"What did the Rider say to you?" he asked, wanting to return to the day's more immediate concerns.

"He wanted to know why the mare came to me, when he'd been trying to do just what I did for days. I told him - she was going to him; he would have done it, if not for that buzzard spooking her. I _think_ he believed me, I hope he did..."

He smoothed the dark glossy weight out across her shoulders, divided it, and began to rebraid, catching sections of hair and weaving them back from her face. "And tell me, although I might guess at some of it; what did you say to the mare?" She leant forward a little to let him work.

"That the black terrors from the sky were gone, forever. That her Rider needed her. And that - I knew how she felt...."

"You see?" he said quietly. "Your defeat of your darkness may not be forgotten, but I think it is behind you." She nodded. "And perhaps, sometimes, it will help..." He caught the side braids together behind her head, weaving them together; lifted aside the hair still falling loose below her shoulders, and bent to touch his lips to her exposed nape.

" _Mmmm_." She arched her neck in pleasure, then settled back against his chest. Somewhere above them a bird he did not recognise began a long liquid cascade of song.

"The sun's going down," Rowanna murmured sleepily. "Look - all that golden light there through the trees..." He nodded.

"It will be a fine sunset. But if you want to see it better - come!" He shifted her gently away from him, and in one smooth movement pulled himself up onto a low branch of the _culumalda_.

" _Climb_ it? _Legolas..._ " But he extended a hand, and she swung herself up easily enough; Legolas settled them both in the fork of a branch, Rowanna in the crook of his arm.

Before them the meadows spread out glowing in the rays of the setting sun, all the way to Anduin as it shone liquid gold in the distance. A great bank of cloud on the horizon was stained purple and red as the sun sank towards it, a ball of flame. They spoke together:

"Do you remember? -", then laughed. Rowanna nestled against his shoulder; he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"That night," she said thoughtfully, "if we had known - that it was not the end, I mean - would you still have - " He smiled into her hair.

"Who can tell? I did not know I was going to. Besides, I rather thought _you_ began it?"

She chuckled. "Strange; _I_ thought it was you..."

They sat quiet awhile, the sky before them slowly turning from gold to rose to palest green. Then he felt her shift, and her breath catch as though she were about to speak; but she said nothing. He waited a while, then:

"What is it, _melethen_?"

"I was thinking..." Her heartbeat quickened, and she moved restlessly again in his embrace. "We - we thought the world was going to end; and now it hasn't. You saw the Eorlingas, earlier, the way they looked at us... what are we going to do?"

" _Ai_ , the haste of mortals." He stroked a finger gently across her cheek. "Always 'where next?' 'What shall we do?' 'What of tomorrow?' Hush; not here, not tonight."

"But -"

He sighed, half affection, half exasperation.

"Rowanna... Middle-earth has come back from the edge of the abyss. You are here; I can smell the dew on the grass, and feel the _culumalda_ 's bark warm at our backs." He gave the tree's trunk an appreciative pat. "What we will do in another moon-round, or a se'n'night, or tomorrow, I know not; and nor, just at this moment, do I care. What do I want to do _now?_..." He slid a hand to cup the back of her head, turning her towards him, and tilted her face up to his. _"This."_

Around them the _culumalda_ 's leaves rustled in the warm breeze; overhead, little by little, the night became brilliant with stars.

***

Rowanna finished rolling her blankets, and jammed her knee on top of her bedroll to hold it in place while she fastened her pack's straps. The woman Healer with whom she had been sharing the small tent for the last few nights was, she had said, keeping the night watch over some of the wounded, and had left her own bedding neatly folded back; so Rowanna need not worry about waking anyone as she unlaced the tent-flap and slid quietly out into the dawn light.

Mist was rising from the greensward, and as she shouldered her pack and set off towards the Fellowship's camp her boots were quickly glistening with dew. Birdsong was bursting out all around her as she turned away from the main encampment to take a short cut through the trees.

" _Aur maer, rohiril."_ He dropped from a branch ahead of her soundlessly, and her heart turned over at the smile he gave her. "I hoped you might permit me to escort you?"

"I thought you were _all_ going to escort me," Rowanna laughed. "Isn't that why I was invited for breakfast - for the best send-off Sam and the others could contrive? Are they awake?"

"Samwise is, and already building the cooking-fire. And he had Pippin off to fetch water. Frodo I think not - he was awake much of the night; he is still having bad dreams..."

"Poor Frodo," Rowanna sighed. "To have done so much for all Middle-earth, and still to have to suffer for it. Did Aragorn not give him anything?"

"He would have done, I think, but Frodo is reluctant to take draughts every night - he says they make him sluggish and heavy all day. I sat with him by the fire, and told him every tale I could think of from the Greenwood that involved neither spiders, nor orcs, nor the Necromancer - which ruled out a good few. He fell into a doze a little before dawn." The corner of his mouth quirked in the expression she knew so well. "Though if he is as true a hobbit as I think him, he will not long sleep through the sizzling of Sam's bacon and eggs before the smell rouses him!"

"I'm glad he has you to bear him company." Rowanna took his hand as they wandered on beneath the trees. Legolas sighed.

"You know I would come back with you, if not for -" She shook her head.

"Frodo needs you. _Aragorn_ needs you - someone has to keep him from working himself to death with dispatches and commissions before he is even crowned! And I know the White City was.. not easy, for you, before."

He locked his fingers with hers more tightly. "I know we shall all be back in Minas Tirith soon enough, but I would gladly spend a few more days under leaf and sky before I must submit once again to all that weight of white stone. Let alone those infernal gulls! - can you not persuade the Steward to have them declared vermin and offer a reward for every one captured and taken back to the coast?"

Rowanna threw back her head and laughed. As they came to the arch of trees opening onto the green lawn, though, Legolas halted and drew her to face him.

"Lest I am tempted later to scandalise Master Glavradîr or the rest of the encampment -" he arched an eyebrow at her - "or to interrupt the string of messages which Merry and Pippin will doubtless have you take back for their numerous new friends in the Houses; here, _melethen_ , is _my_ parting gift, until I see you again." He pulled her into his arms; and had anyone other than the trees been there to witness it, the kiss he gave her would indeed have been the talk of Cormallen all through the two days it took Rowanna to sail back down to Osgiliath with Prince Imrahil's errand-rider, reclaim a thoroughly frisky Gelion from the garrison there, and make the most of the gallop in glorious April sunshine back across the Pelennor, to a City eagerly awaiting the return of its King.

*******

**Author's Notes:**

_celonuil_ \- lit, "river-weed", as I had to invent a Sindarin word for watercress.

_hildegefetorde_ is my pseudo-Anglo-Saxon bodging together of _hilde_ (war, battle) and _gefeterian_ , to fetter or bind. The use of the term "war-fettered" to describe what in more modern parlance we might call shell-shock or PTSD, or an equivalent state of nervous shock in horses, was stolen from Altariel's fabulous Faramir/Eowyn story, [_A Game of Chess_](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/602844/1/A_Game_of_Chess)\- but turns out to originate in medieval Viking sagas, such as the Icelandic Harðar Saga discussed in Lars Nooden's undergraduate thesis,  The Viking Expeditions from Central Sweden, [here](http://www-personal.umich.edu/~lars/thesis4.html#stress).

_Mae agorech, melethen -_ "you did well, beloved"

_Sidh, sidh - "_ hush, hush "(lit, "peace") _Tolo an sirith_ \- "come to the river"

The song "Silver flow the streams from Celos to Erui..." comes from _The Return of the King_ Book V Chapter 9, _The Last Debate._

_Aur maer, rohiril -_ "Good morning, horse-lady".

The naming of the red-blossomed trees at Cormallen as _culumalda_ is canonical (thanks to Dwimordene for tracking the name down, in the Appendix to the _Silmarillion_!) but my speculation that they might be the trees which in modern Earth are called pomegranates is based on the description given [here](http://www.thefountainhead.co.za/articles/Article%20Pomegranate%20Enriches%20blood.asp).


	38. The Crownless Again Shall Be King

"Hold still while I pin this, and we'll see how it looks -" Míranna adjusted the waist of her daughter's emerald green gown where the bodice met the velvet skirt, and stood back alongside Ithildîs to inspect the result. "Yes, that's it, it hangs much better so. How does it feel?"

"Heavy, if I am truthful!" Rowanna sighed. "I've been in breeches or plain linen gowns for so long - I haven't worn a dress like this since Rivendell." She turned a little in the evening sunlight bathing her mother's sitting-room, trying not to roll her eyes at the expression of distaste on Ithildîs' face. _I fear Adramir's wife finds me something of an affront to propriety!_ "But it's not uncomfortable - I'm so glad you made the bodice laced rather than boned, and linen instead of velvet..."

Rowanna had not discovered until after her return from Cormallen that alongside her, in the scrip of letters borne by Imrahil's messenger, rode the news that the King did as rumoured intend to be crowned on the first of May before the City gates. Fortunately Míranna had already decided that since there was likely to be a coronation at some point, she should start to ensure that she and her daughter could be appropriately clad; but having cut, stitched and embroidered without Rowanna present, some minor alterations had inevitably proved needful.

"I knew that by May Day the weather might well be warm," her mother agreed, "so even if I could have found boning in the City in time I decided not to inflict it on you - and I thought the cream linen for the bodice and underskirt would sit well with the dark green skirt and sleeves, and the gold broidery. I had enough trouble buying up all the gold thread - the mercers down on the Second Circle said they'd been running low in any case, with nothing but essentials getting through from Dol Amroth the last weeks, and then once Aragorn's coronation date was announced..."

"...suddenly you couldn't get fine cloth or good thread in Minas Tirith for love or money," Rowanna chuckled. "I can imagine! It's lovely, Mother - I can't believe you had time to make it so fine. Though I still think you should have embroidered your own gown more and mine less! All these intertwining leaves and stems on the facings; they're exquisite..."

"Plain dark blue with a little silver trim is perfectly fitting," Míranna assured her, "for a _respectable_ middle-aged widow of Gondor." She winked at her daughter, who suppressed a snort and wondered once again what on earth the rather humourless Ithildîs made of their banter. Their hostess was spared any more of it, however, for at that moment there was a timid knock at the door and little Líriel the maid, looking distinctly flustered, came in and curtseyed.

"If you please, mistress, my ladies, there's - there's..."

"Well, what is it?" enquired Ithildîs coolly. "Out with it, child!"

"Asking for my lady Rowanna, down in the courtyard -" Líriel gulped - "there's... an _Elf_."

"Legolas!" Rowanna cried. "I was hoping he'd come up tonight - Bergil said earlier he'd seen the Host coming from the outwall -"

"You know... an Elf?" Ithildîs sounded slightly strangled. Then she remembered herself. "Really, Líriel, don't stand there gaping - show him up..."

"Oh _yes_ , cousin Ithildîs, he is a dear friend," Rowanna assured her solemnly. _Powers forgive me, but I think I shall enjoy this..._ "He is the son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, you know, a member of the Fellowship of the Ring, and very close to the King-in-waiting -"

She got no further, for they once again heard Líriel's light feet on the turn of the stairs before she slipped in to announce, eyes wide as saucers, "My ladies - m-my Lord -" She swallowed, and fled.

"Lady Ithildîs," said a lilting voice, "I pray your forgiveness for intruding upon you thus uninvited, but I was anxious to enquire after the health of the Lady Míranna." In the shadows of the doorway a late sunbeam glinted upon long braided hair as Legolas bowed low. _My, upon your best behaviour_ , Rowanna thought, amused. _I had all but forgotten you are a prince of a royal house..._

"My - lord Prince..." Ithildîs managed to stammer, looking completely stunned. "I-it is no intrusion, I assure you." As Legolas straightened up and met her stare, she paled, flushed, then managed to collect herself. "May I offer your Highness of Mirkwood a little wine?"

_If you only knew,_ Rowanna reflected, _that scattering Legolas' titles about him is the very last way to ingratiate yourself with him - let alone referring to 'Mirkwood'!_ But Legolas' grimace was, she was sure, too swiftly mastered for any but her to have caught it.

"You are too gracious, my lady, but I must not impose upon you," the Elf assured his hostess, "for I am due in short order to wait upon the King - he would have the Fellowship dine with him on this his last evening uncrowned. I have snatched what time I could after we finished attending to the horses - "

"But surely - your groom?.." Ithildîs, to Rowanna's great entertainment, looked horrified.

"Oh, Arod would take lack of my personal attention much amiss," Legolas protested, "and rightly, given what he has borne me through these last few moon-rounds! But no matter." Finally having silenced the mistress of the house, he turned to Rowanna and her mother.

"Lady Míranna, it is good to see you again! I trust I find you as well as you appear?"

"I am in excellent health, thank you, Legolas," Míranna smiled. "And you? How fare the King's companions on Coronation eve?"

Legolas' laughter was like the gurgle of a stream. "Merry and Pippin - vastly overexcited, and incurring much wrath from Mithrandir every few minutes in consequence. Frodo - happy, but very weary; Sam - solemn. Gimli - furiously polishing his mailcoat and convinced, as ever, that his axe has not a keen enough edge. And I? Sorry to leave behind the fair woods and fields of Cormallen, and yet... to return to Minas Tirith makes me very glad indeed." He turned, at last, to Rowanna.

"A good even to you, my lady." Deciding to play along with the game she extended a hand, which he caught up and pressed for the briefest moment to his lips, and she knew he noticed the tremor he sent through her. "A thousand apologies; I see I have interrupted a gown-fitting." Gravely, he stood back to inspect her. "You will be the match in elegance of any lady in Gondor tomorrow..."

Swiftly he leant in to her and whispered in her ear, " _and you will have my profoundest sympathies!"_

Rowanna bit down hastily on her lip as his eyes danced wickedly at her and she felt herself losing control of her face. _Legolas Greenleaf, I owe you for that! You know me far, far too well!..._

"My lord, your courtesy is as ever impeccable," she retorted sweetly, only to risk helpless laughter once again as he arched an eyebrow at her. "But we must not keep you from the King - may I escort you to the gate?"

"No, you don't, daughter!" her mother warned. "That bodice is only pinned - you are not to stir from this room with it in that condition!" Legolas shot her a rueful glance.

"In that case, _brennilen_ , I fear I must go unescorted - for I should take up no more of your time, and I must swiftly to Aragorn. Till the morrow, ladies; good night..." He bowed once more to the still-stunned Ithildîs and, in a heartbeat, was gone.

"How good of him to come," Míranna said contentedly, "when the host is only just arrived from Cormallen. Bergil must have been glad to see them! - he has been missing his father, I think, though he would never admit to it. Ithildîs, don't stand there gaping like a fish - help Rowanna out of this gown without pulling the pins, could you? I should like to finish sewing before the light goes - and I know not what the rest of you intend, but I feel the need of an early night before the morrow!"

Despite Míranna's admonitions, Rowanna sat by her window long into the night, listening to the faint sounds of harpers and singers drifting up from all the lower Circles, and watching the pinpricks of light which marked the Host's encampment out on the Pelennor. Even so, with the rest of the household she was up early, flinging back her shutters to a perfect blue sky and the endless ringing of all the City's bells, from the sweet tones of the guardhouses' chimes to the deep boom of the Citadel's great bourdon.

Breakfast was hasty; then Ivrenneth, governess to Ithildîs's two unruly children, chased them away to be washed and brushed and squeezed protesting into their most formal dress. _I know how they feel!_ Rowanna thought ruefully, as her mother laced her bodice tight and she endeavoured to remember how on earth one walked without tripping over in heavy, floor-length velvet skirts. She braided and coiled Míranna's hair; Ithildîs was wearing hers bound up in a jewel-encrusted net, and nearly fainted over Rowanna's refusal to do more than sweep her own dark locks up with her usual bone grips, so that finally Rowanna accepted the insertion of a few emerald-studded pins to keep the peace. At last, gowns adjusted and hair arranged, they met Adramir in the hallway and filed out through the courtyard on to the Rath Míriel to join the growing throng descending towards the City gates.

Though they had arrived early and their vantage-point was good, Rowanna watched the complex proceedings unfolding with a feeling of unreality. _Can I truly be here? Watching the greatest event of the Age? Pippin's gambeson is not straight... oh, Ioreth, do stop spouting such utter nonsense to that poor cousin of yours or whatever she is. I think my heel's blistering..._

In the front rank of the Armies of the West she glimpsed a tall slender figure in brown and green with a longbow over his shoulder, and beside him caught a flash of sunlight on a gleaming axe-head. _Perhaps 'tis as well we are no closer,_ she acknowledged with an inward chuckle, _or you would ensure I could not keep my face straight!_

_***_

However Rowanna might have longed for Legolas' return from the Field of Cormallen, in the ensuing days they found they must snatch what moments they could together from among the seemingly endless demands upon their time. Many of the embassages which were already climbing the long way to the Citadel wanted, once they discovered the presence of King Thranduil's son, to seize the opportunity to convey their respects to two kingdoms in one visit; and with every noble family in Gondor returned to Minas Tirith for the Coronation, Ithildîs was equally determined to take social advantage. To Adramir's exasperation she insisted on arranging a series of glittering dinner-parties to precede each of the endless round of balls in which the leading families of Gondor were vying for prominence every evening. Though Rowanna soon compounded her growing reputation for eccentricity by steadfastly refusing to attend most of the balls, for Míranna's sake she could not avoid many of the dinners - until one evening she decided she could take no more of the pompous City merchant with whom she suspected Ithildîs of trying to pair her, invented a terrible headache after the soup course, and fled to her room.

She was leaning out of the window, taking great relieved breaths of the cool night air, when a familiar voice drifted laughing out of the darkness.

"Surely, _rohiril_ , I have not found you playing truant?"

"Where _are_ you?"

A moment later the faint starlight-glimmer she knew so well announced Legolas' easy descent from the rooftiles on to her windowsill. "How did you get up there without a tree?..."

"Even stone may serve an Elf, where needs must and branches lack," he retorted. "So - are you prepared to extend your absence-without-leave, milady? I was sent to invite you down to supper with the Company - Pippin pines for you and Sam wants you to taste the new sauces that the cook at the _White Sceptre_ has been teaching him!"

" _You_ never seem to have to attend these endless balls and parties," Rowanna grumbled. "How does the Prince of the Greenwood escape, when the King cannot?"

Legolas chuckled. "I have made an appearance or two, if only to bolster Aragorn, who cannot slight his noble houses and so must at least show his face at every one. But I have, shall we say, encouraged the rumours -" he grinned wickedly - "that Wood-Elves are so retiring by nature as to find the light and noise of a ball unbearable." He grimaced. "Which it must be said is not entirely untrue! So will you come for supper? I confess -" he caught up her hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles - "that I had thought we might walk down by the most.. _roundabout_ route a simple Elf unused to City streets might devise..."

"If only," Rowanna sighed. "But given that I have taken to my chamber on the pretext of a crippling headache, that there are servants all over the house and that the staircase creaks like an oak in a gale, how exactly do you propose I escape?"

Legolas lifted an eyebrow at her. "What gift gave I you in Edoras, _melethen_ , precisely to hide you from any hostile gaze?" His eyes lit up with mischief as Rowanna gasped in delight.

"Of course! Wait for me two minutes!" Ducking into her closet she wriggled out of her green velvet gown, yanked on breeches and a shirt, and emerged fastening the grey cloak of Lórien at her throat. Legolas looked quizzical.

"And your boots? Or did you plan to go barefoot?"

"Yes I did, as far as the courtyard at least!" Rowanna grabbed the boots from behind the door and tucked them under her arm. "I'll go quieter that way; the cloak doesn't make me inaudible! See you at the postern-gate..."

_I don't care if I was seen and Ithildîs lectures about it all day tomorrow,_ Rowanna reflected sleepily much later as she slid into bed, with Sam's excellent dinner in her stomach and the memory of Legolas' goodnight still on her lips. _Every minute of this evening was worth more than any sanction she can devise, and I'll sit through an entire tedious dinner with Gondor's most worthy as penance if I must!_

The morrow, however, unexpectedly presented Rowanna with impeccable grounds for absenting herself from dinner.

"I must pray your indulgence tonight, I fear, cousin Ithildîs; I am requested to attend upon the King."

***

Ithildîs could not, of course, possibly compete for precedence with the ruler of Gondor and Arnor; and so the following evening Rowanna - having reluctantly donned the hastily-cleaned green velvet gown once more - walked happily up to the pinnacle of the City as the sun was setting, trying to remember not to whistle aloud as she went.

She had never yet set foot in the Citadel itself, though the blinding white walls of the Tower of Ecthelion had loomed over her often enough when she went to the Steward's stables on the Sixth. As she passed up the long sloping path to the seventh gate, following Adramir's directions, her steps slowed; and by the time she stepped into the High Court and found herself facing its central fountain and the venerable ruins of the White Tree, any urge to whistle had entirely died in her throat.

Somewhat nervously she passed by the impassive black-clad guardsmen, gave her name and business to an equerry who waited at the great door to the Citadel itself, and was escorted, swallowing hard, into the White Tower.

Fortunately, passing from the Place of the Fountain into the King's private audience-chamber was rather like escaping from the chill of the High Pass into Bilbo's sitting-room. The chamber was clearly being used as a combination of dining-room and study, and had an air of having been somewhat hastily refurnished; the luxurious rug, Rowanna noticed, did not quite match the velvet drapes at the windows or the blanket thrown over the back of the couch, and books were piled haphazardly on the shelves and alongside the chess game set out on a small side table. Everything spoke of practicality and comfort over formality or appearance.

Aragorn rose easily to greet her from the deep armchair where he had been immersed in a book, chewing absently on the stem of an unlit pipe. Instructions regarding dinner were given to the equerry, and all was brought and arranged with unobtrusive efficiency while the King made small-talk. He confirmed Rowanna's speculations; the room had been fitted out for his temporary use, "for the King's apartments have been closed up for centuries, and must needs be refurbished before they will be habitable. Faramir is insistent that I should borrow the Steward's accommodations, for he has personally no desire to make use of Denethor's rooms; I am equally adamant that I do not intend simply to displace him without forethought, and that... there may yet be other opinions to be taken into account." For a moment he was lost in thought, smiling a little as though his mind were elsewhere. As the last of the servants departed, Aragorn handed Rowanna courteously to a seat at the small dining-table and sank into his own chair with a sigh of relief.

"I am ready for this, I confess, cousin! For one who thinks nothing of walking halfway across the Angle in a day, it seems ludicrous to find nine or ten hours of sitting about talking to ambassadors tiring, and yet I reach every sundown ravenous and in pressing need of a drink..."

Rowanna smiled. "They do say, Sire, that it's always more wearying to labour an hour in a new trade than a day in an accustomed one -"

" Neither _Sire_ nor _Chieftain_ this evening, if you please," her host said firmly as he filled her wine-glass. "Not only is it good to put titles aside for an hour or two, but I have something I want to ask you, and I would wish before we come to it to make quite clear that I shall be asking it neither as King nor clan-chief, but in the name of friendship. But enough of that for a moment; pass me your plate..."

He piled it high from every dish on the table, and Rowanna found she could not suppress a chuckle. Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Have they been starving you down on the Fifth?"

"Only at Ithildîs's endless dinner-parties," Rowanna grimaced. "Where it is clearly considered entirely inappropriate for a female to have any appetite whatsoever! Fortunately yesterday evening I had supper with the Fellowship, and was somewhat better fed by Sam..."

"News of that particular... _escapade_ had reached my ears," the King remarked mildly as he speared a piece of the excellent beef.

"Stars!" exclaimed Rowanna. "Is there any aspect of life in Minas Tirith you do not hear of? And I was told it was the late Steward who was considered all-seeing.."

For an instant something flickered in Aragorn's grey eyes, and she wondered uncomfortably what she had said. But he merely smiled and turned the conversation to enquiry after Míranna.

"She is as well as I have ever seen her, in truth, as long as she remembers that she was but lately very ill and does not overtire herself," Rowanna assured him. "And she seems far more kindly disposed towards the White City, and Gondor in general, than ever I remember her being when I was a child; I think her welcome here has been warmer, at least from her own side of the family if not from some of Father's, than she would have expected..."

"When one has been to the brink of the abyss and back, old offences, particularly those which were always more against convention than anything else, may fall into a truer perspective," Aragorn remarked, startling his guest as she took another sip of her wine. _I had no idea he knew so much of the family history! But then, he did say he knew Father back in the Mark..._

"She talks of settling once again in Gondor," Rowanna went on. "Her cousins Pennastir and Adramir, who both serve in Prince Imrahil's navy, have been singing the praises of Dol Amroth and its healthy climate to her; and the other day she even wondered whether a small house on the Third or Fourth Circles here, where the dressmakers and broderers mostly work, might be within her means -"

"And you?"

"I - in truth, Aragorn, I had not even begun to think..." To her consternation Rowanna found herself both flushing and stammering. _Does he know - about Legolas and.. me? I did not think so, but -_ "So much has changed - everything is, is different..."

"Indeed it is." Aragorn treated her to a long, appraising gaze under which she struggled not to shift uncomfortably. _Sometimes for a moment he looks very like Master Elrond!_ "Selfishly, though, I am glad to hear that you have no immediate plans, and also that Lady Míranna is for the time being so content, for it makes the asking of the favour I want to set before you considerably easier. Before I begin - dessert?" And he raised his voice just a little to call for a manservant who must, Rowanna realised, have been only just out of earshot of their conversation on the other side of the door.

Rowanna had never before tasted the dark berries which made up the heart of the delicious meringue-topped pudding, though she assumed they were native to Gondor and must have been preserved over the winter. Neither she nor the King said anything much for several minutes; only after their spoons had scraped the bottom of their dishes and Rowanna sat back with a contented sigh did Aragorn lean forward with elbows on the table, steepling his fingers ( _Master Elrond again!_ Rowanna thought) and explain.

"Any of that great throng which stood before the Gate of the City the other morning probably thought that the new-crowned King of Gondor had just achieved the pinnacle of his ambitions," he said softly, "- even my dear friends in the Fellowship of the Ring. And yet there is a day for which I have waited even longer - and which may, the Valar willing, at last be drawing near." He turned the stem of his wineglass slowly in his long fingers, the crystal winking in the candlelight. "I know not, Rowanna, if you were aware when you were in Rivendell of how matters stood between myself and the lady Arwen Evenstar..."

"I.. in part, I think, Aragorn." For a moment she was transported back to that last night in the Hall of Fire; to Arwen leaning her head on Aragorn's chest as the _Lay of Leithian_ was sung, and to Legolas' wondering murmur in her ear, " _I did not know!"_ "It was never spoken of openly among Master Elrond's people; though Bilbo said something, once or twice. And after the Fellowship departed Arwen and I were often together..."

"Were you?" Aragorn's swift smile bathed her in warmth. "I am glad of it. I know those cannot have been easy days for any of those left behind." He put down the wineglass and leant forward once again. "But what not many know - not even the Company, except for Gandalf - are the conditions Elrond set for allowing the Evenstar of her people to pledge herself to a mortal, a Ranger of the North, dispossessed heir to a broken kingdom. He swore that only to the restored King of Gondor and Arnor would Arwen be wed."

Rowanna gasped in delight. "Then now -"

"Now Arwen should, even as we speak, be riding southwards with her father and the host of Imladris," the King agreed. "Assuming that Master Elrond keeps faith..."

"You cannot think otherwise, Aragorn, surely?" Rowanna's eyes widened.

"Only in the watches of the small hours," Aragorn admitted ruefully, "when I sleep too little and think too much. No; thanks to the Eagles, if not sooner, Elrond will by now have known for some weeks that the Ring was destroyed and Gondor preparing to crown her King. if all falls out as I hope, then he and Arwen are already on their way to the Lady Galadriel in Lothlórien.. which brings me, Rowanna, not to the command of a King or a Chieftain, but to the favour I would ask you as Arwen's friend." Reaching across the table, he poured her another glass of wine.

"In three days' time the _éoreds_ of Rohan, led by their King and his sister, are to depart for the Riddermark. With them go the sons of Elrond..."

"To bring Arwen back to the White City?" Rowanna exclaimed.

"If my greatest hope proves true," Aragorn agreed. "For I have been thinking much upon this great journey that Arwen undertakes; to leave behind Imladris and Lothlórien both, the realms she has called home for near three thousand years... and much else besides." He tailed off for a moment, and Rowanna thought she saw him bite his lip. "To come to an unfamiliar city, in a foreign land. And although she will have her father and then her brothers on the road, it will be as hard a journey for them as for her, and try as they will it may be hard for them to bolster her as much as they would wish." He took a deep breath and gave Rowanna that steady, unblinking gaze which seemed both to see into the depths of her heart, and to lay his own entirely open to her.

"Would you, Rowanna, in friendship to the Evenstar and to me, ride north with Elladan and Elrohir and bear Arwen company on this, her ride from an old life into one utterly strange and new?"

"Gladly!" Rowanna cried, a great wave of affection at the thought of Arwen's situation washing over her. Then she was brought up short. "Oh, but -"

"Indeed," said Aragorn dryly, "we must not, as a certain Ent of my honoured acquaintance would have it, be hasty. I would not have you commit yourself to such an expedition - several weeks away from the City at the least - without being sure all was provided for here. Although -" the swift smile once more - "it warms my heart that your first impulse was to give such ready consent."

"Arwen was a dear friend to me, at a time when I had sore need of one," Rowanna assured him. "Anything in my power to help her I would gladly do. But -"

"Firstly, of course, you must consult with Lady Míranna, and be sure she will not have need of you," he agreed. "Though if it reassures you, she has my guarantee that should she have the least concern, for her health or any other need, she has but to send word to Faramir or to me and she will, matters of state notwithstanding, have our immediate attention - and the best care the City can provide; that is the least I can offer in return." Pushing back his chair, he paced slowly up and down, chewing once again on his pipestem. _Strider, indeed!_ thought Rowanna with a smile. "Is there aught else that would concern you?..."

_Legolas!_ thought Rowanna with sudden heartache. _How can I leave him for...weeks, Aragorn said?_ "Perhaps... other companions, Aragorn? Have you thought of asking any others of the Fellowship to go?.."

"I would rather they did not," the King admitted. "Dear though I know Merry and Pippin in particular are to you, I could not ask them to leave the others behind without a great deal of explanation, which would in short order be all over the City. Perhaps it is no more than superstition, but..." he gnawed for a moment on his pipe, "I am loath to have my hope known to any but the most closely chosen few, lest in the end all come to naught."

Rowanna's brief flare of excitement was dampened. "What then would you have me tell Mother, and indeed others who will ask why I am riding North?..."

"To any casual enquiry," he responded, "I am sure you can come up with reasons enough why you might need to be making a trip to the Riddermark. To Lady Míranna... would she accept it, think you, if you were to tell her truly that I had asked you to ride with the northbound company to do a very particular thing for me, but which you were not yet at liberty to divulge?..."

"For you, Aragorn, I think she would accept it if I were to tell her that you were sending me down to Dol Amroth to learn to command the navy!" Rowanna retorted, and the King threw back his head and laughed aloud.

"I hope I shall never be driven to such straits! Very well, then, we are agreed. Talk with your mother tomorrow, send me word, and only if you are both entirely content with this will it go forward, in which case you will have two days to make your preparations - and put down anything you need from any merchant in the City to my account, by the way." He moved around the table to assist Rowanna courteously to her feet. "Come and be more comfortable, now - we'll let Haradir get the table cleared - and tell me more of how you and Arwen spent your days last winter..."

At the end of a most convivial evening, after the guardsman commissioned by Aragorn had waited to see her safely within the house on the Street of the Jewels, Rowanna mounted the great staircase slowly, deep in thought. _I must see Legolas tomorrow, early. And then get up to the stables and make sure Gelion will be fit..._ After the King's excellent dinner, however, even brooding on the days ahead could not keep her long from a deep and satisfying sleep.


	39. We Must Away Ere Break of Day

"I wish Rowanna wasn't going," Pippin grumbled to Legolas as the pair gathered up the dishes and tankards from the Company's evening meal. "She'll be away for weeks, and with hardly any warning – why so suddenly?"

"Because, I imagine, it has not long been decided when the Rohirrim should depart for the Riddermark," Legolas replied as he lifted the laden tray and let Pippin dart ahead to open the door into the courtyard, "and with Lady Míranna's health so much improved, perhaps it seems a chance she should seize, to ride thus accompanied. Would you have her make the journey alone?..."

"Of course not!" Pippin flushed indignantly as he worked the pump-handle, sending water splashing into the great stone trough which stood by the kitchen door. "And I do understand that she has friends there, and her stud farm with – what was the Man's name?"

"Aelstan, I think," Legolas supplied as he began scrubbing a dish with a coarse washcloth and a handful of soaproot.

"- and of course she wants to see how everything and everyone fares, after the War," Pippin admitted, taking the dish from the Elf in his turn to rinse it. "But I shall miss her dreadfully, won't you?" He stacked the dish on the end of the trough to drain. "Hey – come on, Legolas, stop dreaming!"  

"She will barely be gone two moon-rounds," the Elf observed as he hastily resumed his task. "She will be back before you know it..."

"Trust an Elf to think like that," Pippin grumbled. "It may be the blink of an eye to you, but it's weeks to the rest of us! And what makes you so sure she will be back for Mid-year, anyway?"

"Let us just say, Pippin, that Midsummer Day is one I think many in the White City will be glad to see..."  Smiling, Legolas finished scrubbing the final dish.

"You're about as much use as Gandalf when it comes to giving a straight answer," Pippin retorted. "I'm sure you know more than you're telling, after you and Rowanna went out riding yesterday morning and were gone half the day. What was it Bilbo used to say about going not to the Elves for counsel –"

He got no further, for the sound of bare feet on flagstones announced the breathless arrival of Merry.

"Legolas, there's a huge great Man – a Rider of Rohan, not one I know – at the door asking for you. And I don't know what you've been doing to upset the Rohirrim, but his face is like thunder and he looks as though he wants to hit someone!"

"Indeed?"  The Elf was on his feet in one smooth movement. "Then we had better not keep him waiting lest we try his patience further!  Show him out here, would you, Merry? The evening air may cool his head. Pippin, take these within, if you please."  He handed the tray of crockery over; and though his tone was light, there was something in it which sent the Halfling inside without a murmur.

It was indeed a great blond giant of a horse-lord who came into the courtyard after Merry; the Hobbit said simply "Here is Legolas," took one look at the Elf's face, and like Pippin before him vanished into the house without another word. The Rohir strode at once across to Legolas, who stood with his back to one of the colonnade's pillars, apparently watching the stars appearing in the evening sky.

"You are the Elf they call Legolas? The companion of Aragorn King?"

"As Merry told you."  Legolas leant back against the pillar, folding his arms. "What would you with me, friend?"

"I want to know what you have been doing to make Rowanna of the Eastfold's name into a foul tavern jest!" the young man retorted, flushing to the roots of his hair.  "Know you not that if what I heard tonight is true, she is like to become a byword among half an _éored_?  Or care you not?"

"You speak in riddles. Explain…" Legolas' voice was dangerously soft.

"I wasn't at Cormallen, I was with my lord Elfhelm's troop sent up the West-Road, and I've only tonight found some I know from my lord Éomer's _éored_ , in a tavern down on the Third –" the Rider began, his words tumbling over each other.

_Mead-courage!_ Legolas realised with an inward grimace, catching a whiff of sweetness on the agitated lad's breath.  _Just to make this more interesting…_

"Everyone's full of cheer about riding out for the Mark tomorrow," the young man went on, "thinking of wives and sweethearts and boasting of the welcomes they'll get… and then one says to me, 'Mind, there's a lass known well to you who's no need to wait for her Rider, she's found comfort enough down here of another kind!'  And half the table roars, and the other half wants to know what he's talking about, and so he tells us what the rumour was that started up among a few of his troop at Cormallen; that the woman who was so close in friendship with this _Fellowship of the Ring_ –" he spat the words out – "was _closer yet_ … with _the Elf_."  He folded his arms in his turn and stood glaring.  "So, Elf-lord? What say you?"

"I say," Legolas replied evenly, "that I understand little enough of the customs of Men, and still less of their gossip and rumour – but I will tell you this; that Rowanna is neither child nor fool, and knows her own mind and heart. Whatever she has given she has given freely – "

" _Given?_ " The horse-lord exploded.  "Curse you, Elf, what _exactly_ has she –"  He launched himself forward, only to find both wrists caught arrow-swiftly in an unbreakable grip. Scarlet in the face, he discovered that though he was as tall as Legolas and nearly half as broad again, all his weight would not shift his adversary an inch.

"I would not do that," the Elf suggested coolly.  His eyes glittered in the lantern-light spilling from the house. Suddenly the Rohir's shoulders sagged.

"But that's just it!" he cried despairingly. "Elves!  You're more powerful, you're wiser, you – you're immortal!  What do you want with a mortal woman?  She needs a hearth and a home and a Man to settle down with, not starlight and – and forests and Elvish enchantments!"

_Ah._   Legolas slowly released his grip on the young man's wrists.  "Would your name by any chance, Rider, be Béodred?" The Rohir flushed again.

"Yes it would!  What of it?"

"Oh, no matter. Rowanna spoke of you as a good friend, that is all. And Béodred – as her _friend_ , you can in truth tell any Rider you choose that Rowanna has done nothing, by the customs of Elves but I believe of Men also, for which she need feel any shame."  He spread his hands out low, palms upward.  

"I do not believe there is any more I can say to you than that.  Goodnight, my friend, and a fair road home on the morrow."

"A good night to _you_ ," the Rohir flashed back.  "But use it, Elf, to think on what I said!"

He stood for a moment, breathing hard, then turned on his heel and marched back through the house.  Legolas heard a door slam.  Letting out a long, slow breath he turned to lean his forehead against the cool of the pillar, barely noticing that he was grinding one clenched fist slowly into its rough stone, gazing at nothing.

He had no idea how long he stood there, but eventually he heard his name called softly.  Merry poked his head cautiously from the kitchen doorway.

"Are you all right, Legolas?  Are you coming in?"  Then, as the Elf crossed the courtyard and stepped into the lamplight, the Hobbit gasped.

"Legolas!  You didn't hit him, did you?"

" _Hit_ him?  Of course not, Merry!  Why in Arda's name – "

"Well, if you didn't – " Merry swallowed – "then what on earth have you done to your hand?..."

Legolas turned his fist over and stared, blankly, at the blood which ran down his shredded knuckles and dripped in steady red tears onto the cobbles of the yard.

***

"All _right_ , Gelion."  Rowanna spoke a little sharply as the frisky gelding nearly trod on her boot while she tightened his girth.  "I know you want to get going, but we'll never start if I can't get you saddled! Stand still – Legolas may be here any minute..."

But even when she had loaded up her saddle-bags and checked them for even weighting, there was no sign of the Elf. _We can't drop by the Fellowship's lodging on our way down to the Pelennor, either_ , she mused as she mounted up and clicked to Gelion, raising a hand to the stable-boy as they passed under the arch; _that little lane leading down to their house may be quiet as Frodo wished, but it's steep and winding and the cobbles are too uneven to risk Gelion just before we start a month's journey! Never mind, we'll find them on the Field...  
_  
The lowest Circles, despite the early hour, were thronging with folk, for it seemed that half of the White City intended to go out onto the Pelennor to see the Rohirrim depart and wish their friends and allies good speed. Rowanna inwardly thanked Elrond's stablemaster yet again for her mount's temperament and training, as Gelion moved daintily through the jostling crowd with no more than an occasional disconcerted snort.  Passing through the cleared space around the Gate with a sigh of relief, she cast her eye about the field and quickly caught sight, some way off, of the banner of the white horse on green; since she had no _éored_ to join up with, she reasoned, she would do best in the first instance to ask a Marshal where the King wished her to ride. Besides, the Fellowship would surely be found with Aragorn, which almost certainly meant close by Éomer...

All over the field horses whinnied and stamped, Riders called, the folk of Minas Tirith chattered and shouted to one another. _It's worse than the Edoras Midsummer-fair!_ Rowanna thought. _I'm glad we persuaded Mother not to come down after we said goodbye at breakfast this morning; I don't think she's strong enough yet, whatever she might think, to withstand this crush for long!_

Weaving her way between the gathering groups of Riders, she could see the distinctive shape of Firefoot, Éomer's great chestnut stallion, and glimpsed Éowyn – riding, to Rowanna's amazement, side-saddle – atop her impeturbable Windfola: but before she reached them, suddenly a pair of mirror-image greys slid up on either side of Gelion; flanking her she glimpsed their slender black-clad riders, and in unison two voices chimed in:

" _Mae govannen, rohiril!_ "

" _Aur maer, mellyn_ ," she responded evenly. _I'll need to remember everything I learnt in Rivendell about not letting Elladan and Elrohir put me off my stride,_ she reflected, _if I'm to make it to Lothlórien and back with my sanity, let alone my dignity, intact!_

Gelion, though, was simply pleased to encounter the familar scents of Nimloss and Nimfaun, and was gently touching noses when something about one of the many tall fair-headed figures moving through the crowd caught Rowanna's eye.  Yes – there he was, shepherding the Hobbits deftly through the throng of Men and horses, Gimli at his side.  She was about to jump down from Gelion's back and run to him when she remembered the ironical gaze of the Peredhil at her side; she dismounted more sedately, and it was Pippin who ran to hug her, pouring out indignation at her deserting them all for weeks on end.

"Of course I'll miss you, Pippin, all of you!" Rowanna protested when she could get a word in. "But it truly won't be for so long - you will still all be here at Midsummer, surely?"

But Merry and Pippin had now spotted Éowyn, and dragged Frodo and Sam forward to greet her. Elrohir sidestepped Nimloss to make some remark to Éomer, and at last Rowanna could get to Legolas' side.

"Have you all that you need?" he enquired. "Pippin was all for gifting you extra provisions of every kind for the journey; but I think we convinced him not only that Éomer King's train would be more than well enough provisioned, but that Gelion would not thank him for the extra weight!"

"I've all I need," she assured him. "Though I had thought you might come up to the stables this morning to make sure of that yourself?"

Legolas was glancing this way and that over his shoulder at the massing Rohirrim, and seemed barely to hear her. "Forgive me that... see, Aragorn comes!" A distant trumpet blew, and far off Rowanna glimpsed movement from around the City's gate.

"I'd best be ready, then!" She made to embrace Legolas, but found he had forestalled her by stepping up to hold Gelion's head. Admitting with an inward sigh that the Elf's discretion was probably well-judged, under Elladan and Elrohir's interested gaze, she was about to swing into the saddle when the knuckles gripping Gelion's bridle caught her eye. They looked faintly grazed, the skin a little too smooth and new. "Legolas? Have you done something to your hand? It was all right when we rode out two days ago..."

"'Tis nothing," the Elf said shortly, looking over his shoulder again. Frowning, Rowanna was about to press him further when a clear, belling sound brought her up short. It was Éomer's great horn, the Kingshorn of the Riddermark; and at its blowing instant silence fell. Suddenly, not a Rider shouted or spoke, and every mount stood motionless: even the gossiping Gondorrim were impressed into quiet; and into that stillness Aragorn spoke.

"People of Gondor! You gather this morn to honour and farewell our friends and allies of Rohan. So also do I; and thus you will forgive me, I hope, if in courtesy I do so in their own speech..." Over a murmuring of surprise he switched smoothly into Rohirric, and Rowanna felt a delighted shiver of recognition run down her spine at the glorious sound of it rolling off the Chieftain's tongue:

"Riders of Rohan! In Gondor's great need rode you to the Red Arrow; risking ruin for ancient friendship. Defeat of dark powers with your King's blood was bought. Renowned now he rests in our Silent Street, guest of our gratitude while the Riddermark readies."  He drew breath, and Rowanna felt the wave of appreciation run through the Riders' ranks: _here is a King who can make a song!_

"Hie you homeward safe and swiftly," Aragorn went on, "rise the road smooth to meet you. Forget not friendship; in Mundburg's memory you rest remembered, courage commemorated, in song and story."  He turned to Éomer and Éowyn, and with great ceremony bowed low to them both in the saddle. " _Ferthu Eorlingas hal!_ "

The Rohirrim roared their approval and the horses began to stamp and toss heads, catching the mood.  "I must mount," Rowanna said hastily.  "Legolas –"

He nodded.  "Elbereth guide you, _rohiril_ ; guard and protect you, to the end of the world."  For a moment she thought his caution would extend even to the Elven blessing; but as he ended he kissed her correctly, left cheek, right cheek and brow.

"To - " Rowanna went to echo him; but he was already cupping his hands to lift her into the stirrup.

"Swiftly now. I must get Merry and Pippin out of this crush before they are trampled! Go safely..."

In the saddle before she had time to think about it, Rowanna could do little more than nod. "Keep - "  She swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat.  "Keep them out of mischief for me!"  

"I will do my best!"  For a moment the familiar smile danced across his face; then Legolas turned away, seeking the Hobbits and Gimli, and Rowanna bit down hard on her lip and stepped Gelion carefully across towards the Marshal's banner, to ask what she should do.

*******

**Author's Notes:**

_Mae govannen, rohiril!_ \- Well met, horse-lady!

_Aur maer, mellyn_ \- Good morning, friends.

I've stolen Nimfaun from Isabeau of Greenlea's [_Captain my Captain_](http://www.tolkienfanfiction.com/Story_Read_Head.php?STid=663), because the name seemed to match Nimloss (my invention) so nicely.


	40. Of Folk of Men and Elven-Kin

Accompanied by the steady beat of thousands of hooves, the cavalcade made its slow passage across the Pelennor and through the Rammas, and the Riders turned their mounts' heads to the North. Rowanna had been assigned a place in Éomer's _éored_ , towards the middle of the column. She knew neither of the Eorlingas beside her; the younger, on her right, was attempting to soothe his roan mare as she snorted and danced.

"Skittish this morning?" Rowanna enquired sympathetically.

"She's not mine," the lad muttered. "And I'm not Heordan, and she knows it. We lost him at the Black Gate."

Rowanna grimaced, not sure how to ask the obvious question. "And your..."

"Fastulf. On the Pelennor. One of those mûmakil things... broke his leg." The boy looked away, blinking furiously, and Rowanna, not wanting to stir up any more distress, said no more.

They were trotting through a warm May morning, under a flawless blue sky, swallows swooping and diving overhead. Normally Rowanna would have been content to fall into the rhythm of the ride and let her thoughts wander where they would; but her mind circled endlessly back to that farewell on the field.

_Something was troubling Legolas, I know it. I'm sure he'd done something to his hand, too..._ She was used to the Elf's air of serene distance when his thoughts were leagues away; _but not to him being jumpy, like that, constantly looking over his shoulder. Was it Elladan and Elrohir being there?..._ She had thought she noticed, long months before in Rivendell, that exchanges between Legolas and Elrohir, in particular, tended towards coolness at times. _And it didn't help that I could barely touch him – then I might have felt what troubled him..._ She sighed. _But he always stepped away..._ Fretting silently to herself, she paid no heed to a messenger cantering back down the line, and jumped when he reined in and hailed her.

"Milady Rowanna?" She nodded. "Éomer King asks for you, and the Elven-lords, up ahead yonder..."

The lines of Riders parted smoothly to let Gelion break rank; one or two raised a hand. It was only as Rowanna was beginning to move up the column that she thought she heard a comment, whose import she did not catch; but muffled laughter greeted it, and there was something in the laughing which made her flush without fully knowing why.

Elladan and Elrohir shifted neatly as Rowanna approached, to let Gelion fall into line between them.

"We thought it was high time for you to explain yourself, _rohiril_!" Elrohir announced, reaching into the leather scrip at his belt and producing several small and wrinkled apples which he passed around.

"E-explain what?" stammered Rowanna. Elladan laughed aloud.

 "His manners do not improve, do they? Fear not, Rowanna. We merely want to hear the tale of your ride to the Southland - word came back to Imladris that you and Dirgon had reached Lórien and been seen on your way towards Edoras; and the next thing we know, you show up in Minas Tirith in the middle of the War!..."

"It's a long story - " Rowanna protested.

"That's all right," Elrohir retorted cheerfully, "we have all morning! In fact, let us be honest, at this pace we probably have a good six weeks..."

So Rowanna began on an account of how events regarding her search for Míranna had fallen out in Edoras and beyond; which once the Twins' continual comments and interruptions were added took up a good part of the remaining morning. She was particularly matter-of fact at the points where she could not leave Legolas out of the tale; t _he last thing I want is a pair as indiscreet as these being the first to discover - well, what? That_ , she realised with an inward sigh during a break in her story, while Elrohir held forth for Éowyn on the capture of the Haradrim's fleet, _is half the problem – I'm not even sure what it is I am keeping from them!..._

"Do you know what's just struck me?" she broke in when Elrohir's digression had run its course. "I can't think why I never noticed it before, but seeing them alongside a whole _éored_ \- Nimloss and Nimfaun could almost be Eorling bred. It's something about the shape of the head, I think..."

"Look Rohirric? So they should!" replied Elladan. "After all, they're of Felaróf's stock..."

" _Felaróf?_ " Both Éowyn and her brother gaped.

"Well, yes – their many-times-grandam was his – sister, wasn't it, Elrohir? She was a gift to Imladris from Eorl after the Field of Celebrant, in thanks for our aid. And with Father's stallions put to her, a rather fine new line did result, I'll freely admit!"

"So the legend about Grey Riders from the North is true!" exclaimed Éowyn. "They were Elves from Rivendell!..."

"I did tell you," her brother pointed out, "dreams and legends spring to life out of the grass, these days..."

This turned the conversation to the breeding and training of horses, which lasted till Éomer called a halt around noon, when they crossed over a stream which offered a good opportunity to water the horses. As the company spread out up and down its banks, Éowyn caught Rowanna's eye and jerked her head towards a little cluster of farm buildings which stood, shaded by a stand of trees, a short distance downstream. Mystified, she walked Gelion in Windfola's wake.

"Are you sure they're safe?" she prompted as they drew closer. "You heard what the Marshal said earlier- there might yet be Orcs hiding out in abandoned farmsteads..."

"You saw the scouts riding ahead to make sure before Éomer called the halt," Éowyn threw back over her shoulder. "And there's no sign of burning or damage. Besides -" she walked Windfola around the corner of the first barn and slid gracefully from the saddle - "I don't want to go in, just to get out of sight for a moment. Here, hold this for me?"

She had delved into her saddlebag, and tossed out a bundle of linen. Rowanna began to chuckle as she unrolled a shirt and pair of breeches. "I did wonder how long you'd last side-saddle! Where _did_ you get that riding-habit, anyway?"

"Lent me by the wife of some noble or other of the City, apparently," Éowyn grumbled. "And you'd never believe how hot it is, or how heavy! Clearly no lady of Gondor ever does anything on a horse but sit about looking elegant! Here, help me unlace the dreadful thing and change before Éomer wonders what I am about, will you?"

"It's just as well Lady Théodwyn insisted you learn to sit side-saddle when you were little," Rowanna pointed out, laughing. "Though I'm impressed at how practised you look - I'm not sure I could carry it off! But why? - surely Faramir didn't insist on it?..."

"As if he could - or would!" Éowyn flashed back. "I'd had it made quite clear to me by the waiting-women that no respectable noblewoman of Minas Tirith would ever ride astride in breeches, so I'd almost made up my mind to do exactly that –"

_Of course!_ thought Rowanna, supressing another chuckle –

"when someone appealed to Éomer and he said that if his sister wished to show herself a graceless lump unable to ride side-saddle properly he was powerless to gainsay me!" Éowyn finished indignantly.

"At which point, of course, you had to show him how it was done..."

"Obviously!" Éowyn emerged smiling from her rumpled shirt. "Now I just need to find the tack-wagon and exchange this wretched side-saddle for something Windfola can bear till we get home to Edoras..."

_Home_... Rowanna felt the ground unexpectedly shifting beneath her feet. _The Riddermark... it **was** home; the only one I have ever known. And yet- Edoras drove Mother away, nearly at cost of her life. Is she ever going to want to return? And do I, if she will not?..._

Steadily the days and the leagues rolled away beneath the hooves of the great riding of Rohan. On their second day out from the White City they came to a place where the road had been churned to a mudbath, now dried into holes and ruts; a little way off, lined up to point northward along the road, was a great mound.

"The burial place of our dead of the North-way Battle," Éomer said sombrely. He called a halt; three times a picked company of Riders circled the barrow, while the rest of the _éoreds_ lifted their voices in lament to the fallen. Rowanna sang with the rest; unable to keep the tears from spilling over as she thought of Dirgon, of young Wulfdan, of Théoden King, of all the losses of the War.

Nor did the company need the burial mounds to remind them; some of the scattered farmhouses they passed were blackened ruins, their roofs fallen in, people and livestock vanished, making Rowanna shiver. _I got through to Minas Tirith just in time!_ Other farm buildings, though, were already being put to rights, repaired by doughty Anóriens who stopped work to wave and cheer the Rohirrim, children and dogs running alongside the cavalcade full of excitement.

After their first day, Rowanna had word from one of the Marshals that she had leave to ride with the Lady Éowyn and the Elflords whenever she would. This she generally did, since she was also, as the only other woman present until they reached Rohan, sharing Éowyn's small tent when they stopped each night. During rest stops for the horses, though, and in the evenings, she roamed among the _éoreds_ seeking out Riders she knew, looking for news of friends from the Eastfold, especially Aelstan and their horses. Béodred had been able to say little other than that all was well when he had left to ride with Théodred to Isen; and besides, Rowanna had the distinct impression - though in a company of several thousand it was hard to be sure - that Béodred was actively avoiding her.

After a few nights, however, she began to feel increasingly reluctant to roam among groups of Riders she did not know well. Where she was known she was always hailed as a friend; but a few times elsewhere she caught nudges, or laughter, or the tail-ends of comments about her wandering, which made her face flame with fury. _Can they still not get past the fact that I happen to be a woman? I ride in my own right - even had I no commission from Aragorn, Éomer would have granted me leave!_

In the twilight one evening she was heading back to the little enclave of tents smiling, after a few words with an old Eastfold captain who in time of peace ran his herd not many leagues from Aelstan's farm. Humming to herself, she was passing by a campfire where a circle of Riders sat, passing round a mead-flask, when a shout carried across to her:

"Off to bed, lassie? Need anyone to keep you warm?..." Another voice chided the first, but unrepentant the first Rider got to his feet and ambled towards her as she strode on, cheerfully waving his flask:

"No, no, yer al'right, we all know she's no trouble snuggling up to Elves, don't we lads?"

A roar of laughter greeted this; Rowanna was whirling round to tell the speaker exactly what she thought of him when out of nowhere a slender black figure stepped forward, one hand casually resting on the knife-hilt at his belt, and looked the Eorling icily in the eye.

"I wonder if you would care to take back that remark," Elrohir said evenly in perfect Rohirric. "I remembered the Eorlingas as a people of great courtesy - a little rough around the edges, to be sure, but never so crude as to get a cheap laugh at a woman's expense. And since it would show considerable discourtesy to Éomer King if I were to disembowel you - and _I_ do not care to be made discourteous – I heartily recommend you reconsider."

Those of the campfire group sober enough to follow this fluent diatribe were laughing and applauding before Elrohir reached its end. The offender had more trouble; but though the Peredhel had not lifted a finger, the Rohir was not too drunk to read the entirely plausible threat in Elrohir's apparently relaxed stance. Muttering something about pardon, he backed down and resumed his seat to the jeers of his comrades.

As Rowanna marched back to the tents with flaming cheeks, Elrohir dropped easily into step beside her. _Here it comes_ , thought Rowanna with a sinking heart. _Surely now he'll be demanding to know what's behind it –_

"Thank you, Elrohir," she began hastily, "but there was really no –"

"No thanks necessary," Elrond's son assured her airily. "After all, it was my reputation, such as it is, at stake as much as yours! - assuming, of course, that lout did mean me and not Elladan, though frankly I doubt he can tell us apart..."

Rowanna was momentarily dumbstruck; then she bit down firmly on her lip to suppress a great snort of laughter. _Oh, Elrohir, your vanity is truly limitless! Though I should be grateful, for that will save me an infinity of more difficult explanations..._

"Where did you learn to speak Rohirric like that, anyway?" she demanded to cover her confusion. "I knew you understood a little, and could speak the odd word, but –"

"- you might have chosen your insults when I beat you in a horserace more carefully if you had known I understood?" the Peredhel put in with a raised eyebrow.

"If anything, I might have been franker!" Rowanna retorted. "But –"

"Oh, Elladan and I have had a fair bit to do with the Children of Eorl over the _yéni_ ," Elrohir drawled. "All starting at Celebrant, really, as we were saying the other day..."

Rowanna reeled. " _You?_ You and Elladan are the Grey Riders of the Field of Celebrant? You said _Rivendell_ lent its aid, but I didn't realise – "

"Celebrated in song and story for as long as Rohan has existed," said Elrohir smugly. "Which is why offensive remarks from some child of an Eorling in his cups irritate me more than they perhaps should... Here we are – oh, good, Elladan has found some wine!"

Rowanna took the offered spot by the campfire and accepted a beaker of the wine, her thoughts still whirling.

**_He_ ** _was at the Field of Celebrant. The Riddermark's founding legend - centuries ago! I knew he and Elladan were hundreds of years old, of course I did, but I'd never really thought – what they've seen, what they've done – what does a human lifespan look like, to an Elf? It's as Elrohir said – we're children, we're specks of dust..._

She went to her bed early that night, finding she was not in much of a mood for fireside conversation; but she lay awake a long time, watching the shadow of the campfire flames dancing on the tent-canvas, Elrohir's words going round and round in her mind.

***

Faramir blew gently on his carefully-arranged bark fragments until the tiny flame caught and licked upwards, then deftly placed more kindling around and over them. As he sat back satisfied on his haunches, Legolas emerged from the trees swinging a bulging waterskin.

"That was quick!" Faramir remarked as he took the water from the Elf and set it to boil. "I knew there was a spring somewhere up behind this clearing, but I doubt I would have found it yet..."

 "I could smell it," Legolas said easily as he dropped cross-legged beside the Steward, "could not you?"

Faramir gave a sigh of contentment as the little fire began to crackle. "I still find it strange to be able to light a fire here openly, without checking the wind's direction and looking continually over our shoulders! I know Elladan and Elrohir reported all this stretch of Ithilien cleansed of orc, and yet –"

"This land is friendly, Faramir, I promise you," Legolas said gravely. "I remember how it felt when we rode up from the White City towards the Black Gate – frozen, fearful; silent even to my ears. Yet now –" The Steward had watched the Elf numerous times, in the day and a half since they had set out from Osgiliath, stop to listen apparently to the air, or pause to lay his hand to a tree's trunk, or sniff the wind. "It is wary yet," Legolas went on, "for it has been much wounded and has learnt to fear all that goes on two legs. But it begins to speak, at least to me, and to hear me."

The Steward and the Prince of the Greenwood were making this foray into southern Ithilien, north of the Crossroads, unaccompanied – somewhat to their own surprise. "With the Steward himself?" Legolas had queried. "Would not a couple of his Rangers be as well able to guide me to survey the land and the state of the forests for you?"

"Doubtless," the King had replied drily, "but ever since the Rohirrim and the White Lady departed for the Riddermark Faramir has been fretting, like a cat compelled by rain to keep to the house. Do me the kindness of taking him to Ithilien with you for a few days and at least I shall not feel guilty that he has too much paperwork and not enough fresh air!"

Faramir was indeed relishing the holiday, though he could imagine what the Rangers of Henneth Annûn would have to say when they heard of it. Pacing to and fro in his study, Aragorn had assured the Steward that nothing was afoot in City or realm which would founder for a few days of his absence: "for I have Imrahil and Húrin by me, and now that we have seen off the first wave of embassages, and put the immediately pressing works of defence and reconstruction in train, you've set in motion all that need go forward for a week or so. A few days out of the City, now that you're fit for horseback, can only do you good. Besides -" he put down his pipe and turned to face Faramir - "in truth, Faramir, I would count it a favour if you were to accompany Legolas. Something is troubling him, I would swear it; and whether it is the Sea-longing, as I fear it may well be, or simply an Elf's discomfort at spending too many weeks cooped within walls of stone, to breathe forest air and climb a few trees may at least ease his heart a little..."

And so the pair found themselves some way north of the Crossroads, watching the last of the sun's rays tinting the hilltops opposite them even as the first stars emerged into the pale green of the evening sky. Faramir pulled from his pack a small, much-stained muslin bag, filled it with dried leaves from a small box and set the tea to steep in the pot which he took from the fire. As he did so, he pulled a few waxy green leaves from a pocket and tossed them on to the flames. Legolas breathed in appreciatively.

"What is it?"

"Bitterleaf, we call it. Its smoke keeps the biting insects off, and on a still evening like tonight we are like to be glad of it!" At the Elf's slight smile he added, "Do you not have midges and the like in Mirkwood?"

"Assuredly," Legolas replied, "but I had never understood why Mortals make such a fuss about them until I saw their effect on the Hobbits after their stay in Fangorn. Elves may be bitten from time to time, but we do not come up in those huge itchy red lumps!"

The Steward threw back his head and laughed. "Yet another quality to envy in the Firstborn – how many more can there be?" He poured two mugs of tea, handed one to the Elf, and then sobered.

"Tell me truly, Legolas, now that we have begun to look more closely at the damage wrought upon this fair land. Can it be made good? And how long might it take?"

"How long..." Legolas shook his head. "I do poorly at reckoning in Mortal timespans, Faramir, in truth. It will take... as long as it will. Where the harm is to the trees only – only!", his face shadowed for a moment, "we can replant, and within a generation make new what has been destroyed. But where the earth itself has been poisoned by Mordor's filth - " He looked away, and Faramir thought he detected a faint tremor in the Elf's normally even tones. "Then we must try to cleanse before we can set seed again; perhaps divert springs and streams for a time, to leach the poison from the ground, which will mean starting upstream and at the top of slopes, and working our way down..." He took a long draught of the bitter tea. "On my way back to the Greenwood from the White City I must visit Fangorn, I think; I will need all the counsel an Ent can give me on the healing of forests. It will be no short labour, certainly not as Men count these things."

Faramir was looking at him keenly. "Legolas, you said 'we'. Does that mean..."

"As we rode to Mordor," the Elf replied, "Elladan and Elrohir saw me weep over the wounded ruins of a tree, and bade me wait for another day. I swore then to Yavanna herself that were I spared and Middle-earth saved, I would come back, if Gondor would have me, with such of my father's folk as would join me, and strive to make good what orc-kind had sought to wreck for twisted pleasure. What think you, my lord Steward?" His clear gaze held Faramir's in the dwindling light. "By the King's leave, has Ithilien room for the folk of the Woodland Realm?"

"For once I will answer on Aragorn's behalf as well as mine without hesitation," said Faramir, putting out his hand. "Most gladly and most gratefully!"

Legolas reached to complete the clasp of arms. "Then you have my word." They both sat back content, draining their mugs of tea; Faramir reached into his pack once again and pulled out bread, cheese and a hunk of ham to divide between them, while Legolas produced and unstoppered a small clay flask of wine.

"There will be no few changes in Ithilien, then, it seems," Faramir remarked as he broke the bread. "For I have it in mind to build a summer house, for myself and the lady Éowyn, perhaps south of Osgiliath at Emyn Arnen – close enough to the City that I can go to and fro at need, yet far enough that Éowyn may feel it an escape..."

"For one raised on the plains of Rohan," the Elf agreed, "the walls of Minas Tirith might well weigh heavy from time to time. I confess I am not easy surrounded by so much stone – fair though it is!" he added hastily - "and I have been within the City barely a moon-round!" He turned the wine-bottle around in his long fingers for a few moments. "Tell me, Faramir... how is it seen among your people, that you would wed a woman of another race? Is there ill feeling?"

"In truth, since we are not formally betrothed, I do not think it is widely known yet," the Steward said thoughtfully. "There will, I am sure, be some consternation among the noble matrons of Minas Tirith who had harboured hopes of me for their favourite daughters! And it is true, there are those of our older families, including some on the Council, whose views on the dilution of Númenorean blood are somewhat...rigid." He reached for the wine-flask and took a long swig. "But most of Gondor will, I hope, give us their goodwill. It must be said that the return of the King perhaps relieves some of the pressure on me in that respect, in that my line is no longer preeminent in the land. And when the King marries -" he caught Legolas' eye, and added carefully "- in the fullness of time -"

"Of course," the Elf replied solemnly, taking back the wine-flask for a swig of his own -

"- and, Valar willing, the marriage is fruitful, then frankly whom the Steward takes to wife will become a dynastic irrelevance," Faramir finished, and reached for the bread and the cheese.

"And if," Legolas enquired after a moment, "you purposed to marry... even further out of your ken? To one of the Firstborn, for example?"

Faramir shot him an intent glance.

"Such alliances are rare and precious things indeed," he said after a pause, "and not, I would imagine, to be undertaken lightly, even less so than marriage otherwise is. Consider though that the Men of Gondor remember proudly their descent from those of Númenor who once were called Faithful, and Elf-friends; for a noble line of Gondor to be joined with Elvenkind would be accorded, I would say, rather honour than otherwise." For a few minutes they both applied themselves to the food.

 "It has always seemed to me, though," Faramir resumed as he dusted the breadcrumbs from his hands, "that the love of a Mortal and an Elf was fraught with peril, if the tales and lays that have come down to us speak truly. Earendil and Elwing, Imrazôr and Mithrellas... And Lúthien overturned death itself for Beren's sake!"

"Which she could do only because the Valar granted her the grace to forsake her immortality for mortal life," Legolas pointed out. "A choice granted to no other Elf, except to her descendants – even unto the brothers Elladan and Elrohir, and their sister the Lady Arwen Evenstar..."

"Elladan and - " The Steward looked startled; then he collected himself. "Well, yes, I suppose they would be! Lúthien, Dior, Elwing, Elrond..." He shook his head. "It still bewilders me, Legolas! I learnt it in my childhood as history and legend and lay, and now..." Sitting forward suddenly, he stared at the Elf. "So you tell me that if one of Elrond's children so chooses, they may for love of a Mortal choose to relinquish the life of the Firstborn? To – to age and die as Men do?"

"Of the ageing, I am not certain," Legolas admitted. "But to die, to embrace the Gift of Men which to us is a mystery – yes."

Faramir blew out a long, slow breath.

 "I see," he said thoughtfully, and for a long moment said no more, reaching instead for another swig of the wine. "And... yes, perhaps that is the only way it could work. Else your Mortal love – and even your offspring! - ages while you are unchanged, grows frail as you do not, and at last must die and pass beyond the Circles of the World where you, immortal, may not follow. Burden rather than gift, I should say!"

Legolas said nothing. For a long time the only sound was the crackling of the fire; Faramir leant over to feed it more kindling, then looked up at the stars overhead.

"Time one of us turned in, I should think," he offered, getting to his feet and stretching before going to undo his bedroll. "Shall I take the first watch?"

Legolas shook his head. "You sleep, Faramir; I have a mind to sit among the trees yet awhile. I'll wake you should I feel the need of rest." The Steward needed no second bidding after their long day on the move, and shortly was but a humped dark shape under a blanket, breathing slow and steadily.

Many hours later, when the Netted Stars had swung across the sky and the moon had set, Legolas still sat motionless in the fork of an oak's branches, cheek resting against the grey-green bark, staring unseeing into the darkness.

*******

**Author's Notes:**

The legend of the "two great horsemen, clad in grey, unlike all the others **"** who were in the front rank of the Rohirrim at the Battle of the Field of Celebrant in T.A 3510 is recounted in two places in _HoME_ (thank you again, HASA Resources!) - _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_ , HoME Vol 12, Part 1: Ch 8, _The Tale of Years of the Third Age_ and Ch 9, _The Making of Appendix A: The House of Eorl._ The latter does say that " **none knew whence they came or whither they went**. But in Rivendell it was recorded that these were the sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir." [emphasis mine] - but I decided to stretch that particular bit of not-quite-canon just a little for my own purposes, so that in Rohan the legend is that they were Elves of Rivendell, but it has been forgotten (or was never known) just which ones...

Bitterleaf is my invention, but I'm imagining an oil-bearing leaf something like eucalyptus, whose fumes would repel midges and mosquitoes when burned.


	41. I'll Look for Thee, and Wait for Thee

"I need to talk to you both," Rowanna murmured out of the side of her mouth, in the Grey Tongue, as she reined in alongside Elladan and Elrohir when the company prepared to stop around midday.  "Out of hearingof the crowd, too. Bring Nimfaun and Nimloss upstream a little."

Elrohir arched an inquisitive eyebrow; but quelled by a look from his brother he said nothing, and contrived to make his few yards' journey to the stream a minute or two later look innocent enough.

"Why all the mystery, Rowanna?"  Elladan enquired as they let the horses drink andfound a spot in the shade to break open their own provisions. They were less than a month off Mid-year now, and the sun overhead around midday was baking.

"Yes, haven't you caused enough gossip for one trip –" Elrohir began, but Rowanna glared at him. ****

"Just be serious for two minutes, Elrohir, will you?  Two questions, that is all. Firstly: do Éomer King and Lady Éowyn – indeed, does anyone here – know of Arwen's coming?  And secondly: have you any idea at all where the riding from Rivendell may have reached by now, or when we might expect to meet with them?" She took a large bite of bread and cheese and waited for the brothers' answer.

"The first is simple enough,"  Elladan assured her.  "None of the Rohirrim know anything as yet; they think merely that we intend to return to our own lands in the North..."

"Which return probably can't come soon enough for some of them!" his brother put in, eyes dancing wickedly. "Your adopted people have not yet learnt to love the Firstborn – or at least the Peredhil – I fear, _rohiril!_ "

"I can't imagine why that could _possibly_ be," Rowanna sighed.  "But I am sure you are right. Go on, Elladan."

"We bear a letter from Estel to the royal house of Rohan," Elladan continued, "explaining the true reason for our journey, and asking pardon for the secrecy up till now. This missive we are empowered to hand toÉomer King when we are certain that Arwen and Father have left Lothlórien, and when we believe them to be on their way to Edoras.  For to answer your second question, Rowanna, I am sure they will be making for the Golden Hall, and that I imagine is where we will meet them; in a ten-day or so, I would think..."

"But how will you know?" Rowanna demanded.  "How do you know now, where they are?..."

"We begin to know each other's presence, as they draw closer," the Peredhel explained, taking a long swig from his water-skin.  "We dreamed of Arwen last night – she was too far yet to speak clearly, but we felt hercoming, and her joy..." Something flickered across his face before Rowanna could read it.

"Grandmother's there too, of course," Elrohir put in, "no mistaking her even in dream! They must have passed beyond the borders of Lórien, for if they were still within her bounds she'd overwhelm any sense of anyone else, except Grandfather; but Arwen was clearly there, and Father, and I'm fairly sure I caught Lindir and, for my pains, Erestor –"

"The Lady Galadriel?"  Rowanna gulped; even from her brief passing through the marches of Lothlórien months before, the unseen presence of the Lady of the Golden Wood had struck her as formidable.  Then she sat up suddenly, startling Gelion who huffed indignantly.

"But Elladan!  If such a great host is coming from Rivendell – the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, and Master Elrond – you must letÉowyn know at once!  It will be her responsibility to welcome them as Lady of the Golden Hall – how can she make provision when she isn't even back in Edoras yet?  She needs to ride ahead with all haste! - or at least send messengers before –"

"Peace, peace!"  Elladan was chuckling. "The thought had occurred to us too, though we were loath to disturb LadyÉowyn until we were certain. Though in truth the riding from Imladris – certainly Arwen – will stand on far less ceremony than Rohan may expect!  But I think you could be right, the time has perhaps come to discharge this first of the duties Estel has laid upon us – at suppertime tonight, maybe. What think you, brother?"

To Rowanna's surprise, Elrohir was glowering.

"If you must," he said shortly, hurling his apple-core into the stream with a face like thunder;  getting to his feet without another word he clicked to Nimloss and marched, followed by his obedient mount, back towards the gathering Rohirrim. Rowanna made to get to her feet and follow, but was forestalled by Elladan's restraining hand.

"What's the matter?What ails him?" 

Elladan sighed.

"These are not the easiest of days for the House of Elrond, Rowanna. Our beloved sister, the Evenstar of her people, daughter of the line of Lúthien, rides to Gondor –"

"To be married to Aragorn!"  Rowanna protested, glad that they were still using the Grey Tongue so that she need not fear her voice carrying to any passing Eorling. "To the Man she has loved and waited for all these years –"

"And for whom she will give up her life,"  Elladan said tightly.  Rowanna gasped, winded as though she had been punched in the chest, as Bilbo's words long ago in Rivendell came back to her:

" _She has chosen mortality, and one day she will leave this world indeed, and the Elves will lose the one they most love...and nothing in all the powers or chances of this world will turn her aside. **"**_

" _Oh_ ," she said, taking a long juddering breath.  "Oh... yes, I see. Elladan, I'm sorry..."

"You understand what it means?" The Peredhel looked at her keenly.

"I – a little. Bilbo told me." Rowanna hugged her knees to her chest, wishing herself a hundred leagues away.

"Then you must pardon me, and Elrohir, if we do not share in Arwen's joy as unreservedly as we always thought we would at our little sister's wedding."  His voice broke slightly. "I would do anything not to show her, but Arwen is no fool. She will see at Edoras, if she does not feel it already, what this is doing; to us, to Father. Which makes it all the harder –" he swallowed – "but I must accept it; that her love for Estel is so great that even our grief and our loss will not turn her from her path."

He finished hoarsely, and Rowanna passed him his water-skin; he took a gulp, shook himself like a dog emerging from swimming, and rose in one smooth movement to his feet.

"You haven't explained," he remarked as they called the horses from their grazing and made to rejoin the troop, "why you were suddenly so anxious to know Arwen's whereabouts, or who knew of them!"

"I'd been thinking," Rowanna explained, "about Aelstan – Béodred's uncle, who owns the farmstead where we worked breeding and training horses.  From what little I've managed to glean from some of the Riders, all was well enough there when they rode South – and Béodred knows the farmstead was safe before he joined Lord Théodred's _éored_ – but I'd still like to go and see for myself, if I could. You know that since we crossed the Mering Stream the other day, the Marshals are giving Eastfold Riders leave to depart, if they will, to go home and find their kin – well, I had thought of asking Éomer King for permission to ride out to the farmstead, with Béodred if he means to go.  In a day or two we'll be passing close, I could be there and back in a day and a half – but I have a charge from Aragorn, even as you and Elrohir do. I promised to come to the Riddermark as Arwen's friend, to be by her on her journey. So if I couldn't ride out to Aelstan's and back before we were likely to meet up with the Elves from Rivendell, then I wouldn't go."

To her surprise, Elladan rested a hand for a moment on her shoulder.

"Arwen will have need of such friendship, I think," he said, managing to smile. "And I am grateful that you thought first of her. But both can be easily done, I should say – we cannot reach Edoras for at least a week yet at the pace we are making; and if I am any judge, we will be there before Arwen and Father and the party from Imladris. Besides –" he clapped Gelion on the flank – "this beast would thank you for a good gallop to stretch his legs, would you not, lad?  Speak to Éomer, Rowanna, and get your leave to see that all's well with Aelstan."

***

Gelion trotted steadily northwestwards beneath a restless sky in which small patches of blue vied with ominous castles of thundercloud. "I wonder if that'll hold off until we reach Edoras?" Rowanna asked him as the stiff breeze whipped at the edges of her cloak. _Legolas would know..._ she thought, the lack of him a pain so physical that she felt it squeeze her heart in her chest. Watching the clouds scudding across towards them, breaking and re-forming, she sighed. _I never thought the day would come when I would be relieved to see the back of Aelstan's holding!_  
   
The ride out from the royal cavalcade to the farm two days before had been just as uneasy, with Béodred largely taciturn alongside her, giving only the briefest answers to her questions; so that it had been largely left to Aelstan and his voluble wife Gytha to give her all the news of how folk and beasts had fared. The steading, it turned out, had been untouched by the War: Aelstan had just been considering whether to send the womenfolk and children to Edoras for greater safety, as the tales of destruction in the Westfold spread like wildfire, when news had come of the Orcs' defeat at Helm's Deep, and of the muster.  
   
"We'd already Béodred away with my lord Théodred –" he explained as they sat on straw bales outside the farmhouse, downing welcome beakers of small beer, "- and all the rest of the able-bodied lads that we could mount were called to the muster. I was ready to ride too –"  
   
"At your age!" Gytha protested as she refilled his tankard. "As if we hadn't enough to worry about without you leaving the steading undefended!"  
   
"– but the messenger from the Marshals said no, the last man on a farmstead was exempted. We thought of driving the herds across to Dunharrow; but from what we heard, Mordor was looking to Mundburg, not in our direction, so in the end we stayed put, and all worked out well enough."  
   
"It's a mercy we weren't all murdered in our beds," Gytha insisted later as they all sat along the great wooden table for the noon-meal, and Merith the pretty new house-maid handed round steaming bowls of broth. "With every able-bodied man in arms gone with the King, Béma rest his soul, to defend Mundburg –"  
   
"Where people were rather closer than you to being murdered in their beds, Gytha, if truth be told!" Rowanna pointed out between mouthfuls.  
   
"Well, that's as may be." The goodwife folded her arms before her on the table like a barricade. "But between Mordor on the one side and the wizard it now seems was playing us false on the other, let alone the enchantress in the Golden Wood –"  
   
"The Lady Galadriel?" Rowanna was unable to contain herself. "One of the wisest and most powerful of the Firstborn in all Middle-earth? Oh Gytha, surely even you can't possibly rank her alongside Sauron and Saruman –"  
   
"Met her, have you?" Aelstan enquired curiously as Merith began to gather up the empty broth-bowls, bestowing a dazzling smile on Béodred as she leant over his shoulder.  
   
"I've not met Lady Galadriel, no," Rowanna admitted. "But I lived among the Elves for a good few months as you heard, in the house of Master Elrond their great healer at Rivendell, and they are – fair, and valiant, and wise, and – oh, you tell them, Béodred!"  
   
Even as the words were out of her mouth she realised she could not have picked a worse advocate to plead her cause. Béodred glowered down the table at her.  
   
"Fair, and powerful, and skilful they are, without doubt," he ground out. "But they're bewitching and cunning too, and if you ask me Mortals are best off staying well away from them and all their enchantments!"  
   
"Well, there you are." Gytha took a dish of bacon from Merith and thumped it down in the centre of the table next to the basket of bread. "And I'm sure that when Rowanna is back living among sensible folk then sense is what she'll see! Now then – there's bread, bacon, and cheese..."  
   
Aelstan turned to ask Béodred for news of some of their Eastfold neighbours who had ridden to the muster; Rowanna, recognising a lost cause when she saw one, reached for cheese and freshly baked bread and did her best to subdue exasperation to appetite.

***

Later they'd walked the herds, looking over the yearlings Rowanna had never seen,  checking on the mothers due to foal over the summer and discussing which of the mares Aelstan had covered with his various stallions that spring.

"So what are your plans, lass?" Aelstan enquired as they made their way across to the steading's one small stand of trees, where a group of fillies stood flicking their tails against the flies in the shade. "Gytha's taking it as given that you'll be coming back to us, but I saw your face at dinner –  you're not so sure?"  
   
Rowanna sighed. "I don't know, Aelstan. You were lucky here, almost unscathed – Gytha has but little idea of how much of the world is changed forever by the War, for ill and for good. Mother was driven from Edoras! – yes," as Aelstan opened his mouth to protest, "I know that was largely thanks to the poison of the Worm, but leave she did, and I think now she's largely made her peace with Mundburg and with her kin; she talks of staying in the Southland. And there are... other things..." She tailed off, scratching one of the yearlings between its ears.  
   
"Well, it's sorry I'd be to lose you," Aelstan admitted, "but I can understand how the Mark may not be the home it was for you, after all that's been. I'd give you a fair price for your share in the beasts, assuming you didn't want to take them with you. Béodred is shaping up to be a fair pair of hands – or was until all this galloping off to war! – and if need be we'll do well enough." He clapped the nearest horse on the flank and they turned to walk back towards the stables.  
   
"You've not been doing badly as it is!" Rowanna smiled, but something within sank a little at the thought. _Aelstan doesn't need me, that much is clear, glad though he'd be of my return. Béodred will soon be getting over his bruised heart readily enough, to judge by the way he received Merith's smiles and admiring gazes over dinner! And as for me... everything here is barely changed, so it must be that **I** am. Why else do I constantly feel like begging them all to **look** , to **see** , to open their eyes? This must be how Legolas felt, after first the Sea-longing came on him; no-one looking on us sees anything different, and yet to us the world is turned upside down._

Now, as she rode once again towards Edoras, she swallowed hard on a painful but clear reality: _I have left Aelstan, and the steading, and the Eastfold behind. And I am not sure I shall be going back_.

***

"What'll we do this morning?" Merry asked at second breakfast, dipping a spoon into a jar of rose-honey from Imloth Melui.  Unusually the sky over the White City was grey, and a steady drizzle had been falling ever since the Hobbits had got up. "Sitting out in the courtyard doesn't exactly appeal. Shall we go and see what Bergil's up to?"

"Sam looks like he's planning a morning in the kitchen," Pippin grinned, indicating the far end of the table where Samwise was lining up jars of dry ingredients and dishes of butter and eggs. "And Gimli's out already; he wanted to go down to the forge on the Third and do some work with Master Galmir the blacksmith, I think. Where's Legolas, does anyone know?"

"Gone since dawn," Frodo put in quietly from the other end of the table, where he was picking fitfully at a dish of berries and green cheese firmly placed in front of him by Sam. "I.. couldn't sleep, and I'd come down to make a camomile tea –"

"You should've woken me, Master Frodo, I'd've done that for you!" Sam protested.

 "– and he was just slipping out of the door," Frodo went on. "He said he was taking Arod out, and he might be gone all day, so not to wait for him."

"It hasn't turned into much of a day for riding!" Merry retorted. "But then – you'd think he would have known that; Elves always seem to know what the weather's going to do long before us mere Mortals..."

"He's been disappearing off a lot like that lately," Pippin said thoughtfully. "I know he used to go out all day with Rowanna, but now she's gone back to see how things are in Rohan you'd think he'd be here a bit more! Do you think he's all right?"

"Something troubles him, Pippin, I think," Frodo admitted slowly. "But then he is a Grey-elf; and from what you said he told you of Lady Galadriel's foretelling and then the ride to Pelargir, he has been touched by the longing for the Sea. Bilbo used to say that that desire once woken could never be assuaged; Legolas must be finding it hard, being so close to Anduin and yet so far from the shore..."

Legolas was indeed sitting by the banks of the Anduin, but it was not towards the Sea that his gaze was turned. Shortly after dawn he had called at the smallholding a little way outside the walls where stabling and grazing had been agreed for Arod; the middle-aged couple who lived there, having survived separation and war, were determined to rebuild their ruined house and barn as quickly as possible, and had been more than happy to accept Faramir's advance payment for Arod's keep to help buy their new timber and stone.

Arod had nickered happily at him and gladly accepted the apple he was offered, a little bemused to be taken out in the drizzle for apparently no more than a hack; yet quite content to wander, at the Elf's gentle prompting, through the north-gate of the Rammas and then up along the banks of the wide, lazy-flowing river. A league or so north of the Rammas Legolas had dismounted with a pat to Arod's neck and given him leave to graze, before hunkering down at the water's edge, hood drawn up over his head against the steady rain, gazing northwards.

Some time – perhaps minutes, perhaps hours – later he heard faint splashing and the creak of a pair of oars in their rowlocks, then a soft thumping as the oars were shipped; and afterwards the faint whine of a fishing-line being cast.

"Good day to ye," said a Gondorian accent softly in the Common Speech. Legolas looked round from beneath his hood. Similarly huddled beneath a cloak, a grey-bearded fisherman sat in a small rowing-boat moored a few feet down the river from him.

"And to you, my friend. What do you hope to take this day?"

"Perch, mostly, along this stretch. Maybe a few roach." Legolas noticed a small wooden bucket squirming with white maggots at the Man's feet.

"Well," he gestured towards the darker clouds beginning to mass behind the mountain peaks to the west, "I think a storm is brewing for later, so you should have good fishing beforehand, should you not?"

"Aye, so I reckoned. You've a good weather-eye on you, master."

"So I've sometimes been told," said Legolas wryly, and for a while neither spoke again, the rain pattering gently around them.  The Man reeled steadily in, brought a silver-and-black-striped perch aboard and clubbed it neatly on the head before laying it in a leather sack in the bottom of his boat, baiting his line and casting once again.

"And what brings you out of the City to stare upriver in the rain, master?" he enquired in his turn a little later. Legolas said nothing for a moment.

"Missing someone, maybe?"

"Missing many things, my friend, places and people," Legolas sighed.  "But yes, one above all."

"Mmph." The Gondorian showed his satisfaction at his guess. "And would she – I'm thinking she, though of course I could be wrong! – be coming back this way?"

"I hope and believe so," Legolas replied. "Before Midsummer, if all goes well…"

"Aye, well, then you're luckier than some." The line twitched gently. "I lost my Ivorwen three years ago this month, and never a day goes by that I don't miss her with all my heart; and believe me if staring up the river could have brought her back she'd have been with me again long ago."

"I am sorry for it." Legolas said nothing for a long moment, then:

"If she draws my heart from my body thus simply over a few score leagues, then… how great must the pain be when all the Circles of the World separate you? When the one you love is gone from you forever? How do you bear it?..."

"As you must," grunted his companion. "At first I felt as though I never would, and I won't deny I did think of a coil of rope and a rafter in the barn; but you go on, because you have to, and slowly it becomes less like a blade in your heart and more like a big stone you carry around in your chest, dull and heavy and aching. What else can you do? – you know what they say: ''tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.'"

"Do they so?..." said Legolas thoughtfully.

In one smooth movement, he rose to his feet and whistled for Arod, who trotted over at once. "My thanks, friend. And good fishing."

Swinging up on to Arod's bare back, he raised a hand in salutation; his hood fell back, letting the rain fall on face and braided hair, and as he turned to gallop back to the City he caught sight of the fisherman trailing his line slack in the water, blinking in astonishment.

*******


	42. Until the Stars are All Alight

"Rowanna? Rowanna, is that really you?" A moment after knocking at Teon's door beneath the sign of the silver fish, Rowanna found herself enveloped in an embrace which nearly crushed the breath from her. "Béma be praised, child, I was sure when we heard the news from Mundburg that you'd gone riding to your death all those weeks ago! Come within, sit you down – Teon! Nelda, come quickly, you'll never guess who's here!"

Ushered into the cottage, Rowanna was at once overwhelmed by excited children, embraces and questions. The evening meal was simmering over the fire, and she soon found herself squeezing around the long table to share it.

"I can't stay beyond this evening, though, Edyth," she apologised as soon as she could get a word in edgeways. "I ride with the Sons of Elrond of Rivendell, and tomorrow early we set out towards Lothlórien..."

"The Golden Wood?" Edyth's hand flew to her mouth. "Now why on earth my dear would you want to venture there again –"

"We won't be going all the way to Lothlórien, although I wish I could!" Rowanna sighed. "We are to meet Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar, Elladan and Elrohir's sister – fairest of Elvenkind – who rides from Rivendell with a great host to –" She checked herself just in time. "To visit her kin from afar, Aragorn the new King of Gondor..."

"Rowanna, here's your stew – " Nelda put in –

"And then start again and explain this and everything else that's been going on!" Edyth protested.

This, with many interruptions and diversions, Rowanna did for most of the next hour while being plied with bread and stew.

"So what does Mistress Míranna intend to do, now the War's all over?" enquired Teon as he broke off a great hunk of bread. "Is she coming back to Edoras?"

"I'm not sure of her – of our – plans yet, Teon, in truth," Rowanna stammered, flushing a little. "Mother has found some of her own kin again, in Mundburg, and she seems to be making her peace with the place somewhat. Though I'm not sure how I feel about settling there - too much looming white stone! And after all that happened –" She broke off, biting her lip.

"Sure and it's true the poor lady could hardly be blamed if she never wanted to set foot in the Mark again," put in Edyth hotly, "and the more shame to us –"

"There, Mother," said Teon firmly, "we all know whose fault that largely was, and let's hope it's all over and done."

"And how is poor Lady Éowyn to make provision for all these great folk you say are coming?" asked Nelda, looking to change the subject. "With all that was wrought in the Westfold, the flocks driven hither and yon, the orchards burned – the Mark has not its usual riches to offer –"

"I wanted to know much the same – and so did Éowyn!" admitted Rowanna. "I do not think she will soon forgive Elladan and Elrohir for the short notice she had! She spent half a day interrogating me as to what orders she should send ahead to the Golden Hall..."

"...and some of the folk of Rivendell, at least, eat no flesh," Rowanna had advised a furiously pacing Éowyn. "I cannot speak for the Lothlórien Elves, though in the little time I spent with them we ate mostly berries and wild mushrooms –"

"The kitchen gardens," Éowyn had muttered, "I'll send to Garfrid –"

" – but as I told Éowyn, Arwen and Master Elrond at least more than understand what perils the southern lands have been through in recent times, and will stand on no needless ceremony," Rowanna finished. "For the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn I would not dare speak!"

At the end of a loud and cheerful evening, having kissed and hugged everyone from Edyth to the smallest of the children, she was escorted by Teon back up to the foot of the Golden Hall. She found the Peredhil lounging before the great hearth, talking with one of the minstrels, who was hanging eagerly on their every word as Elladan idly drew ripples of soft sound from a borrowed harp.

"Rowanna!" Elrohir hailed her, apparently cheerful enough. "Come and join us, have some of this mead –"

"She may rather wish to go to bed, brother!" Elladan pointed out. "Rowanna, we ride out in the morning – Father and Arwen are a few leagues north now, we meet them tomorrow."

"In that case I will turn in," Rowanna agreed; "we mere Mortals must sleep! I'll see you in the morning." She found the small side-room assigned to her – _though I daresay tomorrow I'll be on a pallet in the women's guesthall_ , she reflected, f _or Éowyn will doubtless need every room the Hall has!_ and curled up, hugging to her as sleep overtook her the smooth folds of the precious grey Lórien cloak.

***

"Here you go," Merry set a tray of beakers and tankards carefully down on the large round table in the window-alcove of the Silver Swan. "Ale for five –" Sam helped him distribute the foaming tankards around the Hobbits and Gimli – "wine for you, Legolas." The Elf gravely nodded his thanks. "I didn't get one for Gandalf, since he was as unforthcoming as ever as to whether or when he'd be joining us!"

Pippin lit up his pipe, with an apologetic grimace to the Elf who turned to open the window behind him. "Sorry, Legolas! But really, a beer without a decent pipe is no beer at all..."

"How did your cakes turn out, Sam?" Merry enquired. "Was that new flour you found any lighter?..."

The evening wound its way through several more pints and pipes, the tavern growing gradually busier. Many of the Men nursing their tankards were deeply tanned and weatherbeaten, for the Company had discovered the Silver Swan to be a favourite of sailors up from Dol Amroth. After a while, someone brought out a fiddle, another a small hand-drum, and the singing began; the Hobbits listened beaming to shanties and ballads.

"You should give them something, Frodo!" Merry urged mischievously. Frodo chuckled ruefully.

"I don't think I know anything nautical enough!"

"Besides," retorted Pippin, "the last time old Frodo sang in a tavern was hardly –" He broke off in confusion as Sam glared at him furiously.

"Hush now!" Legolas put in gently. "Someone else is going to sing..."

No dancing rhythm set by the drum, this time; after a moment's murmured consultation the fiddler opened with a single high, plangent note, and the singer began unaccompanied:

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,  
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;  
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,  
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking."

The tavern was spellbound, with barely a creak or a rustle. Sam, though, suddenly nudged Merry and nodded towards Legolas. The Elf had grown very pale, staring unseeing beyond the singer, his knuckles white as he gripped the worn edge of the oak table.

"I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide  
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;  
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,  
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying."

Merry grimaced, knowing what Sam too was thinking; _could any song be harder for him to hear? Or more fitting to his pain?_ _At Cormallen, I thought it was just a sort of wistfulness when he sang of the Sea, the way I might sing of the Shire in spring – but it's more than that: it draws the heart right out of him whether he will or no..._

"I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,  
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;  
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,  
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over."

The song ended to applause and renewed bustle; Legolas, however, did not stir. Gimli frowned. "Legolas? Elf!" He waved a hand in front of his friend's face, then sighed.

"Blasted Sea. Let him be, he'll come to himself in his own good time. I wish we'd never been near those gulls!"

" _I_ wish Mistress Rowanna was here," whispered Sam to Merry as another singer conferred with the fiddler.

"Rowanna? Why?"

"Ha'n't you noticed, Master Merry? Rowanna can always draw him out of these strange trances – she seems, I don't know, _realer_ to him than the rest of us when the Sea-longing's on him. He'd hear her voice, or she'd take his hand, and he'd come back somehow, as if he'd been far away..." Sam sighed. "Well, she ain't here, and I don't think as I'm the only one who's missing her. I hope she's back soon!"

The drummer and the fiddler struck up a reel, and whooping and thumping on tables drowned out any more of Sam's confidences. Legolas blinked slowly a few times, looked around dazedly at his friends, and took a long grateful gulp from the wine-glass Merry pushed back across the table towards him.

***

Gelion pranced and snorted the next morning as Rowanna and the sons of Elrond trotted out of the great gates of Edoras and away to the north, along with Marshal Erkenbrand and the rest of the small escort Eomer and Éowyn had wished to send as a mark of respect for the riders from Rivendell.

"What's got into you?" Rowanna chided gently, though she guessed at the answer. Nimfaun's ears were back just a little, and there was something not quite easy about Nimloss's gait; and when she looked more closely, she could see the origin of their nerves in the slight hunch of Elladan's shoulders, and Elrohir's knuckles just a little white as he gripped the reins. Her heart ached for both of them, _but there is nothing I can say that will mend it!_ So she set herself to ensuring that the Marshal and his men noticed nothing amiss, by making desultory conversation about their mounts, the land around them or the homesteads from which they came; and was heartened to notice that Elladan, at least, gradually joined in, apparently with all his usual ease.

It was mid-morning when Elrohir suddenly frowned into the distance and said tightly,

"There they are."

Rowanna shaded her eyes, but could make nothing out at all across the vast grassy sweep of the plain. "Where?"

"Just on the horizon there, beyond that stand of trees – see?" At Elladan's pointing, she thought she could perhaps discern a faint smudging of the endless line where grassland met sky, but that could easily have been just the shimmer of heat-haze. Only after at least another hour had passed did she begin to catch the haze of dust thrown up by many hooves; not until the noonday sun was hot overhead did the faint blur resolve itself into the shapes of riders. Suddenly she felt the tension between the Peredhil as though a bow had been drawn: Nimfaun about to break into a gallop, Nimloss holding to a decorous trot. _Come on! - No, stay!_ At last, with just a couple of hundred yards between them, it was a grey palfrey from the approaching company which broke away, and Arwen who galloped up to them and reined in laughing.

" _Gwanur nin!"_ She leaned across in the saddle and drew first one brother, then the other into her embrace. When she released Elrohir she was no longer laughing, and she held him with her steady grey gaze a long time. " _Henion,"_ she said softly, and her brother looked away. Only then did Arwen look beyond the twins.

"Rowanna!" A delighted smile spread across her face, and Rowanna found herself grinning broadly in return. "I wondered last night if it was you – I was sure I felt a Mortal presence I knew, but I wasn't certain –" She stepped the palfrey neatly across to Gelion's side and hugged Rowanna as enthusiastically as was possible from the saddle. "I am so glad to see you!"

"And I you," Rowanna assured her truthfully. The rest of the Elven party was drawing up around them now; looking around she recognised faces, Lindir, Erestor –

Then everyone somehow fell back as two figures made their way forward, and Rowanna suddenly felt extremely dusty, grubby, insignificant and altogether _mortal_. The Lady Galadriel – there was no other word for it – _shone_. She was clad in dazzling white, her golden hair glinted in the sunlight, and yet somehow neither clothing nor hair, Rowanna was sure, were the source of her radiance. She held Rowanna´s gaze for just a moment, and it was like sliding into a very cold river beneath a waterfall in summer; clean and clear and rejuvenating, but impossible to endure for long, and the mortal woman had to lower her eyes as she bowed in the saddle as best she could. When she dared look up again, Galadriel had moved on to greet her grandsons – whose affectionate exuberance was, Rowanna thought, just very slightly muted – and Rowanna found herself instead inclining her head to the Lord of Lothlórien. If Galadriel´s gaze was a clean cold pool, Celeborn´s was a well; still and tranquil and yet so deep there was no saying how far down it went. Rowanna wondered afterwards if she had been imagining a very slight twinkle of amusement in the depths of those eyes.

Now Marshal Erkenbrand, hastily mastering the faint tremor in his voice, was greeting the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood in the name of Éomer King and Lady Éowyn, and bidding the party welcome to the Riddermark of Rohan. A brief discussion with Erestor followed, the upshot of which was that all would repair to the shade of the stand of oaks they had recently passed, take their noon-meal and rest the horses before continuing on to Edoras. Rowanna sighed with relief; while the Elves seemed entirely untroubled by the midday heat, she could feel the sweat trickling down her back and knew her hair was clinging damply to her brow. As she finished unsaddling Gelion, she turned to find Arwen at her elbow.

"Come and greet Father, before we eat," the Evenstar urged. "I know he wishes to see that you are well – and as soon as we have a chance, I want to hear the whole tale of your ride from Imladris and all that has befallen!"

" _That_ might have to wait for this evening, or another day," Rowanna warned her laughing; " 'twill not be a short account!"

Master Elrond was, Rowanna was delighted to see, mounted on Caradhras; the great stallion was just as glad to see her, blowing gently into her hand and butting his nose softly into her shoulder. "I am not forgotten here, at any rate!" she chuckled.

"Indeed not," Elrond agreed gravely. "It gladdens my heart, my kinswoman, to find you safe and well. And your mother?"

"Well also, now, I thank you, Master Elrond, after a very dark time. She was gone from Edoras by the time I reached it, and I followed her to Minas Tirith just before the darkness came and the city was besieged; she was very ill, but she lived, and the Healers of the city think her fully recovered."

"Good news indeed. And Gelion, I see, is hale also?"

"He's in fine fettle," Rowanna agreed. "He did good service in Gondor's direst need, too – Minas Tirith was very short of swift errand-horses, so I lent him to the Steward's stables for the duration. I hoped, in such a cause, you would not mind..."

"Far from it," Elrond smiled. "Indeed, I bear a message from Brethil – you recall Imladris' stable-master? – he particularly wanted me to tell you that should you desire to keep him, Gelion is yours, with his good will; and, of course, with mine."

"Oh, Master Elrond – I'd love to! Please, you must thank Brethil for me, when you return –"

"Come and eat something, Rowanna," Elladan broke in, "before it's all gone – have you seen what Grandmother has brought?"

Rowanna had vaguely wondered at the number of wagons in the Elves' train, since in her limited experience the Firstborn travelled light both of personal possessions and of wardrobe. All was revealed, however, when Elrohir lifted the corner of the canvas covering one of the carts which had been pulled into the shade. Rowanna's jaw dropped at the sight of the carefully wedged rows of clay pots.

"Is that – _salad_?"

"Brought still growing from Lothlórien, and watered along the way," Elrohir confirmed with a grin; "there's fruit in one of the other wagons, apparently! Grandfather pointed out that Rohan had had an invading force sweep across it, wreaking who knew what havoc, and that the feeding of a large party of Elven guests might cause mortal hosts no little anxiety; Grandmother decided she should provide, and lo! 'tis done..."

_I can't believe they've managed to keep it all fresh!_ mused Rowanna; though she wondered whether any strawberry plant would dare to wilt if Galadriel had decreed that it should flourish. The salad leaves and tiny, juicy tomatoes were delicious, and despite the heat she ate heartily before the great riding gradually got itself back into the saddle and continued south to Edoras. Arwen positioned herself deftly between Rowanna on the one hand and her brothers on the other, and spoke little but listened much; so that by the time they clattered up the cobbled way towards the Golden Hall as the sun was setting, with children running along beside them waving and folk gathering in their doorways to nudge and point, the Evenstar had heard of everything from Aragorn's plans for rebuilding the Great Gate to the Hobbits' favourite taverns. _And we can chatter all day about such details,_ thought Rowanna with an inward sigh, _thus carefully avoiding the topic no-one, just now, wants to mention..._

They dined under the great rafters of the Golden Hall; Éowyn must have had the kitchens in a ferment, for the tables groaned under the weight of the feast, with roasts and bread augmented by Galadriel's offerings of fruits and vegetables. Rowanna could not keep from chuckling at the serving-wenches' efforts not to stare, open-mouthed, at the Elves in their silken robes, braided hair cascading down their backs. _And I'm not sure whether the female Elves or the male are attracting the most attention!_ she mused, as Elrohir bestowed such a dazzling smile on one serving-maid that the poor girl nearly tripped over her own feet. _I just wish the Hall was not so dark, and the air not so heavy with smoke!_ _I never really noticed it before – but to think of the great hall of the Citadel, or Rivendell's Hall of Fire..._

If the Elves, though, noticed the smoke or the gloom, they were all far too discreet to pass comment. Conversation was a little laboured to begin with, since Westron was the only tongue all the company had in common, and some among both Rohirrim and Galadhrim spoke but little of that; but as the evening unwound and mead and music flowed, the murmuring gradually rose to a hubbub. Rowanna grinned at the sight of some of Marshal Elfhelm's _éored_ offering the Noldor yet another drinking-horn; _what they won't find out till the morning,_ she reflected gleefully, _is that not only do Elves never appear to get drunk, but they seem entirely incapable of suffering any after-effects!_

A good deal later, after the meal and the minstrels were done with and only those determined to drink and talk the night away were still in the hall, Rowanna and Arwen sat hugging their feet, nursing a hot posset each, on the bed in the room allocated to the Evenstar and her women. There were two more straw mattresses in the room; Rowanna was to take one, while on the other Arwen's maid, Sedilwen, already lay in waking dream.

"Did you really only bring one waiting-woman with you?" Rowanna enquired softly. "I'm sure the court of Minas Tirith will be amazed that you don't have a whole train..."

"I thought long on it," Arwen murmured, "but whom could I ask to come? To leave behind all society of our kin, to come with me into a land utterly strange... perhaps even to forsake the ships leaving for the West?"

Rowanna felt a slow, painful swelling of her heart in her chest. _What was that little rhyme Sam once sang? 'They are sailing, sailing, sailing over the Sea; they are going into the West and leaving us...'_

"So in the end I did not ask," went on Arwen. "It was Sedilwen who came to me – she looked after my gowns in Imladris ever since I came back from Lothlórien, and she used to braid my hair –"

"I remember," Rowanna nodded.

"She insisted she would come with me," Arwen added. "And then when we passed through Lothlórien there was Galethril – she is one of Grandmother's handmaidens, but we were close during my time in Lórien, and she asked if I would let her accompany me too. But I wonder –" She broke off. Rowanna waited.

"I am not sure she will find it in her heart to stay," the Evenstar finished quietly. "She... she is struggling to accept what will happen when Aragorn and I are joined; that willingly I will renounce the life of the Firstborn..."

"She –" Rowanna bit her lip, then took a deep breath and went on. "She is not alone in that, Arwen. If you had seen Elrohir, these past days –"

"I know," Arwen said, and looking into her calm grey eyes Rowanna found they were very bright, though the serene expression did not change. "I cannot help but know what my brothers feel, and Father too. And I wish more than anything that what I do needed not to cause them the pain it does. And yet... Aragorn is my stars, Rowanna; he is the sea my life's river flows into, my part in the Song. I can no more choose to turn from him than I could choose to stop Ithil's rising and setting." Now for certain there were tears sparkling in her eyes, though Rowanna knew they were tears that mingled grief and joy. "He is mine, my own love, and I go to him!"

"But - must cleaving to Aragorn mean...?" Rowanna stumbled and flushed. "Could you not..."

"Hold to the life of the Eldar?" Arwen shook her head. "Not as one of Lúthien Tinúviel's kin. For that was her bargain with the Valar; Beren restored to her, hers lifelong... if that life had a mortal span, and she renounced the Twilight forever. And that is the choice passed down through all her line, as to no other among Elvenkind. Besides," she laid her hand over Rowanna's, "I do not think I could bear to remain immortal even were it possible. Think what that would mean; to watch Estel aging, year on year - I know he is of the highest line of Númenor, his years will be long by Mortal count, but what is that to Firstborn eyes? - and know not only that I was unchanged, but that he was slipping away from me as surely as the leaves turn or the snow melts in spring. To know that when his time came at last he would be gone from me forever, beyond the Circles of the World, out of my reach not only for all time but perhaps even at the End of Days, and that I must live on years uncountable with that loss..." The tears were back in her eyes. "In Middle-earth or Valinor, I do not think I could bear it."

Her fingers tightened on Rowanna's, and with the swiftness of sunlight she blinked the tears away and broke into a mischievous grin. "Do not look so stricken, _mellon nin!_ I promise you, this is what I most want in the world, and I will be happy. And so now - I need you to tell me _everything_ my husband-to-be has been up to since I saw him last!"

Rowanna swallowed hard, began to talk of Aragorn and the Fellowship and life in Minas Tirith, and for another hour she and Arwen were merry enough; but once they lay down and blew the candles out, she found sleep would not come, and lay long into the night staring into the shadows, with the Evenstar's words going round and round in her fretful mind.

***

They rode out once more from Edoras watched by intrigued crowds of Eorlingas, the children cheering and pointing; but one or two of the adults, Rowanna noticed, unobtrusively flicked a finger to ward off the evil eye as Galadriel passed them. The journey south seemed to go on for ever. Rowanna had always loved the vast open plains of the Riddermark; now there was no end to the hissing of the wind in the bone-dry grass, bleached white under the baking sun. She could feel the edgy unhappiness of Elladan and, particularly, Elrohir; Master Elrond was imperturbable, but said little, riding with Galadriel and Celeborn and occasionally exchanging a few words with them. The rest of the Elven company seemed merry enough, laughing and talking as they rode and singing when they stopped at noon and at evening; _and yet,_ Rowanna thought ruefully, _who can tell what's really going on in an Elf's head? Except –_

Every time she thought of him, her heart hurt and it grew difficult to breathe. _What am I going to do?..._ Arwen had noticed something, she was sure, for Rowanna sometimes caught the concern in her eyes; _but I will not burden her with it,_ she insisted to herself. _Aragorn asked me to ride with her as her friend and her support, to help her on the way to a new life; not to add to her troubles when she has enough to contend with! She probably just thinks I worry, as Elladan and Elrohir do, for her happiness – though it seems she needs no help from any of us on that score!_

On their third day out from Edoras, they were considering pausing for the noon-meal when the Elves' keen eyes spied a rider approaching up the road from the South.

"Errand-rider from Minas Tirith," murmured Elladan, shading his eyes with his hand against the light. "Mailbags either side, and he's wearing black with the White Tree emblazoned... Sister!" he called to Arwen. "Message for you, I suspect!"

So it proved; when the courier reined in and hailed them, bowing low in the saddle to the company, he had letters for Master Elrond, for the Lord and Lady of Lórien, and for the Evenstar.

"I ride on to Edoras, my lords and ladies," he explained, "but was told I would most likely cross with your party on the road, and charged by my lord the King particularly to bring these to you if I did so." He gratefully accepted their offer of refreshment, and watered and rested his mount with theirs as they ate.

Arwen swiftly unsaddled her palfrey, took a hasty draught from her water-skin and then, without troubling about food, pulled out her knife and eagerly sliced through the seven-starred seal on her packet. Several sheets of parchment tumbled out, covered in flowing _tengwar_ , along with one more sealed letter.

" _Gwanur!"_ she called. "Notes for both of you – and Rowanna," she added as the mortal woman came over, mopping her brow and bearing trenchers of bread and cheese for both of them, "a letter in your name! Not Estel's hand, though, I think..."

"For me?" Rowanna was startled. As Arwen passed the folded sheet over to her she exclaimed, "But that's Mother's writing! Oh, Béma –"

"Fear not," Arwen said quickly. "I am sure that were anything amiss we would already have heard from Estel or from Faramir! What does your mother say?..."

Rowanna was rapidly scanning the single sheet. "She –"

_14 Lótësse_

_Dearest of daughters,_

_I hope and trust this will find you well, and indeed that it will find you at all; Faramir assures me that he expects to send an errand-rider north before the seven-night is out, and that this will either wait for you at Edoras, or meet you on your southward road. I did not want you to return to the White City and find me gone – one such shock in the recent past I am sure was enough!_

_Cousin Pennastir – he whom you met just before you and Meriadoc rode out to Cormallen, the captain in Prince Imrahil's navy – has invited me to spend a few weeks with his family down in Dol Amroth, and after much thought, I have decided to accept and to travel south with him now rather than to wait for your return. I hope you will forgive me this – there are three reasons for the haste. Firstly, Pennastir's wife Almiel, who as you will remember is crippled from a riding accident, is unwell, and I know he is anxious and would welcome more help with his boys. Secondly, the White City grows unbearable in this summer heat. And thirdly, if I have to endure many more days of Ithildîs without respite I shall go stark, staring mad._

Rowanna put a hand hastily to her mouth to mask her snort of laughter.

_It goes without saying,_ her mother went on, _that Pennastir and Almiel would welcome you with open arms at any time that you choose to come; so feel free either to follow me down to Dol Amroth as soon as you wish, or to stay longer in the White City, as you prefer; send word when you can and let me know all is well with you._

_The Powers guard and keep you, my dear, and bring you safe to me soon,_

_Your loving mother, Míranna._

"All is well?" Arwen looked up from her own letter.

"It – yes; yes, Mother writes to let me know that she has gone down to stay with kin in Dol Amroth, to escape the midsummer heat in the White City. I cannot blame her; I am sure it must be stifling by now!"

But Rowanna bit her lip; _I hadn't realised, till now, how much I was missing her, and her wise counsel. And now I shall have to wait even longer for it!_

The nights, still and clear, were almost as warm as the days; the company spent them under the open sky, scorning to pitch tents, and indeed in the case of the Elves rarely bothering to sleep at all, preferring to sit around a lantern or a small fire and sing to Elbereth. _And her stars well merit song,_ Rowanna thought, gazing sleepless up at the great sweep of Varda's Cloak from horizon to horizon. _I never saw a sky more brilliant. If only my path were so clear!_ In Rivendell the sound of Elven hymns to the Star-Queen would have lulled her to sleep; now she tossed and turned for hours on her bed-roll, when she did not give up entirely and sit with the Elves, or go and keep company with Gelion. _I don't know what to do. If even Arwen, who has endured so much and waited so long, could not bear to live on after the one she loves –_

They made camp for their last night in the fringes of the Drúedain's forest. Celeborn and Galadriel set off into the trees on foot with a few of the Galadhrim, carrying in their own hands cloaks of Lórien weave and other simple gifts for Ghân-buri-Ghân and his people; "for they are some of the oldest still to walk the forests of Arda," said Celeborn, "as are we, and we pass their lands in peace."

Long after Arwen had closed her eyes – _did she always sleep thus?_ Rowanna wondered, thinking back to Rivendell and unsure if she remembered, _or has she already decided to begin to live as Mortals do? –_ Rowanna was still fretting, turning over, sitting up, lying down again. _Tomorrow, the White City. Oh, Legolas, I long to see you again, and yet –_

_This is foolish,_ she eventually insisted to herself. _Tossing and turning like this is never going to bring sleep._ Untangling herself quietly from her bedroll, she pulled her cloak over her shoulders and wandered away through the trees, past the Elves' small fire, listening to their singing drifting on the night air.

_Just like Lothlórien_ , she realised, and at the memory tears she could not explain welled up in her eyes. She curled up at the foot of a great oak, drawing Legolas' grey cloak around her more tightly. Lost in thought, she did not notice a dark figure rising from the group around the campfire, or hear Elrohir coming until he spoke.

"Not sleeping?" When she started and gasped, he added hastily, "I didn't mean to startle you – I could see you were leagues away. Should you as a mere Mortal not be getting some rest? I don't suppose between official receptions and festivities, and Hobbit gossip and news-gathering, the next day or two will be very restful!"

"I – I can't sleep..." Rowanna admitted.

"I thought as much," Elrohir retorted. "And you haven't been sleeping properly since we left Edoras, have you?" When Rowanna said nothing, he dropped to his knees beside her, took her chin surprisingly gently in his fingers and turned her face into the moonlight. "No, I thought not – there are huge black shadows under your eyes! _Rohiril_ , I know I drive you to distraction, and I play the fool far more often than I should – but you are my friend and very distantly kin too, and I know something is wrong. What _is_ it?.."

"Ohh – Elrohir!" Rowanna gave one great, heaving sob, leant on his shoulder and burst into tears.

"I knew it. _Tell_ me." Rowanna shook her head and wept harder.

"That does it. I'm fetching Elladan." Elrohir did not move; but his arms tightened a little around her shoulders, Rowanna felt a wave of something urgent flowing out from him, and very shortly afterwards Elladan arrived at a run. The sight of Rowanna weeping on Elrohir's shoulder brought him up short.

"What in Elbereth's name –"

"That's what I'm hoping she'll tell you; she won't say a word to me."

Elladan eased himself down on the other side of Rowanna and took her unresisting hand. "Rowanna, come; how can we help if we know not what ails you?"

"Y-you have – to swear – not a word – to Arwen."

"Not a word." The _peredhil_ chimed in together. "So – tell us. What in all the stars is the matter?"

*******

**Author's Notes:**

The song sung in the _Silver Swan_ is John Masefield's poem _Sea Fever_ , first published in SALT-WATER BALLADS, © 1902 – see [http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/14195-John-Masefield-Sea-Fever](http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/14195-John-Masefield-Sea-Fever)

Sam's rhyme about the Elves comes from _LoTR_ Book I Chapter 2, _The Shadow of the Past_.

Varda's Cloak is my own choice of M-e name for the Milky Way, since I couldn't find one attested in JRRT anywhere.

_Gwanur nin_ – My [twin] brothers.

_Henion_ – I understand.

14 Lótësse: Miranna's letter is dated in Steward's Reckoning, equating to 15th May in Shire-Reckoning (thanks to the Encyclopedia of Arda for the calendar conversion!), i.e. a week after Rowanna and the Rohirrim left Minas Tirith for Rohan.


	43. Wake and Hear Me Calling

 

The Company were gathered around the dinner-table on Midsummer's Eve, enjoying the sun's last rays streaming golden through the open window. There would be singing all over the city after sunset, and rumours of fireworks had been heard – whether that explained Gandalf's absence for most of the day, no-one knew. Just as Sam had served up pudding, they heard the sound of the house's great knocker. Pippin went to answer it, and returned with a breathless Bergil.  
  
"Elves!" the boy gasped out, hopping from foot to foot in excitement – "saving your presence, Prince Legolas – Elves! There's messengers come galloping down from Amon Din, Father says, two day-bells ago, and they told the King there's a great company coming riding down the Northway, all gold and silver and banners! They'll be here by dark! You will come down to the Gate, won't you?..."  
  
"As soon as we've finished supper," Merry assured him. "I'm not letting this amazing berry pudding of Sam's go to waste for anyone! Do you know, I'll wager Gandalf knew they were coming, somehow - that's why he went off up to see Aragorn around teatime! We'll come shortly, won't we, everyone?"  
  
Pippin nodded enthusiastically through a mouthful of pudding; Gimli grunted assent, to which Sam and Frodo chimed in.  
  
"Legolas?..." said Merry tentatively after a moment, suddenly noticing that the Elf was very still, looking at the sun's progress across the kitchen wall.  
  
"I could take Arod and –" he murmured half to himself.  
  
"Legolas? Are you all right?"  
  
The Elf blinked. "I – yes, Merry, pardon me. Come, then, if you must put your stomach before all else, finish up – somehow I think there will not be an inch of vantage to be had around the Gate ere long!"  
  
Not even the Hobbits delayed for second helpings after that; before the next bell all the Company – Gandalf having loomed out of the gathering crowds to join them on the descent – were installed at a fine view-point atop the wall, all the City's bells pealing as the stars came out one by one into the darkening velvet sky.  
  
"So do you have any idea what's going on, Legolas?" demanded Pippin, craning to see into the Pelennor's gathering twilight. "Gandalf obviously does, but he just blows another smoke-ring every time I ask him!"  
  
"As if curiosity had not nearly been the death of you times beyond count, Peregrin Took..." rumbled the wizard behind him.  
  
"If I did know, Pippin, I would assuredly have been sworn to secrecy, would I not?" the Elf responded without taking his eyes from the field.  
  
"Well, that's no answer, as usual," grumbled the Hobbit. "Can you _see_ anything yet?"  
  
"They come," the Elf whispered after a moment. "A great company, with the sons of Elrond bearing a silver banner in the van..." Come they did: as the riding came up to the Gate the bemused, gossiping crowds fell momentarily silent. When Master Elrond led forward Arwen Evenstar, starlight glimmering from her even as the jewels in her dark hair sparkled white, a great gasp went up; and when he placed his daughter's hand in the King's, a patter of applause began, swelling to a cheering wave.  
  
"At last I understand why we have waited!" Frodo murmured.  
  
"You have not waited as long as Aragorn..." Gandalf assured him, smiling as he took a deep breath and produced seven little smoke-rings which hung in the air like stars.  
  
" _Look!_ " Pippin nearly fell over the parapet in his efforts to get a better view, and had to be restrained by a growling Gimli. "A whole host's come from Rivendell - see, there's Erestor, and Lindir, and - _oh!_ I don't believe it, there's Rowanna! Merry, look, look! But I don't understand - did she know all along that the Elves were coming? Rowanna, up here!"  
  
Rowanna, leading Gelion carefully through the melée behind Aragorn and Arwen, was looking all around her; but over the hubbub Pippin could not make himself heard, and she disappeared up through the First Circle with the crowd. It was some time before the Gondorrim thronging the walls could all descend in safety, and there was no chance of pushing through the crush; night had well and truly fallen, and the street-lanterns were all lit, by the time the Company were at last able to regain their lodging on the Third.  
  
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm more than ready for supper after all that!" declared Merry, dropping his cloak over a chair with a sigh of relief. "I nearly suggested stopping at the Silver Swan on the way up, only judging by the crowds all along Coopers' Lane we'd never have got there, let alone got anything to eat! Is there any of that ewe's milk cheese left, Sam?"  
  
"Aye, Master Merry, and a good half of the ham, too. And I baked fresh this afternoon –"  
  
"Where's Legolas?" Pippin suddenly broke in. "I thought he was just behind you, Frodo?..."  
  
"He slipped away when we were held up by that big crowd crossing the Steward's Way," Frodo reassured him. "He was going to cut up through those back streets – and over a few rooftops, I suspect! – to try to get up to the Fifth: he wanted to call at the Street of the Jewels, to see how Rowanna was after the journey."  
  
"Well, I hope he'll forgive us if we start without him!" put in Merry. "Personally, I could eat a horse..."  
  
"You'd better not let Rowanna hear you saying that!" laughed Pippin, drawing up a stool. "Come on, Sam, sit down..."  
  
They were clearing the plates, and debating whether to take their pipes outside afterwards, by the time Legolas reappeared. Declining all offers of food, he headed straight for the courtyard, where they found him sitting crosslegged next to Sam's tubs of herbs, breathing deeply as the plants released their scents to the night breeze.  
  
"How can mortals live so?..." he cried when the Hobbits asked anxiously what was amiss. "All crowded together like penned beasts! with no room to turn round nor scent of green to breathe..."  
  
Sam slipped back into the kitchen and returned proffering beakers of both water and wine. Legolas gratefully drained the first and took a long gulp of the second.  
  
"If ever I get home to the Greenwood," he said thoughtfully, "remind me to tell Father to send every wine-merchant on the Fourth a sample case of Dorwinion..."  
  
"How is Rowanna?" demanded Pippin impatiently. "Did you see her?..."  
  
Legolas sighed. "I had no joy, Pippin, I fear. I headed up to the Steward's stables first, thinking to find her there with Gelion; but by the time I made it through those cursed crowds, I'd missed her. Bergil's friend Iorhael was rubbing down Gelion; he said when Rowanna arrived she was so weary – "fit to drop, and looked like she'd barely slept for a week," he'd persuaded her to leave Gelion to him, and got one of the other lads to see her safe back to the Fifth. They must have come down a different way as I went up, or else we missed each other in the mob..."  
  
"Good old Iorhael," said Pippin gratefully. "Was it such a hard ride, then? I wouldn't have thought a company like that would go at any great pace!"

"I cannot tell you, Pippin," said the Elf ruefully, "for I had no better luck at the Rath Míriel; by the time I got back down there, the lady of the house was adamant Rowanna was resting and not to be disturbed..."  
  
"But couldn't you have –" Pippin broke in.  
  
"– climbed up to her window? Believe me, Pippin, the thought occurred," Legolas sighed, "but there was no light in Rowanna's chamber, so it seemed best to leave her in peace. With luck we shall see her tomorrow!"  
  
As he drained his wine, they heard the distant sound of the great knocker booming again.  
  
"Who on earth can that be, so late?" wondered Pippin, as Sam went to answer it. A moment later one of the sons of Elrond – the Hobbits were still not always sure which was which – strode into the courtyard with a face like thunder and demanded,  
  
"Legolas Thranduilion, a word with you, if you please – and alone."  
  
Gimli's eyebrows shot up into his braided hair; through his cloud of pipe-smoke Gandalf sent the Peredhel a sharp look. But Legolas merely rose smoothly to his feet and motioned the son of Elrond into the house.  
  
As the door to Legolas' room closed behind them, Elrohir turned on his heel and demanded through gritted teeth:  
  
"Have you completely lost your _mind?_..."

***

Elrohir's grey eyes sparked fire as they met Legolas' ice-blue gaze, but the Elf did not flinch.  
  
"I could demand that you explain yourself, but I am not minded to play games," he replied softly. "You speak of Rowanna."  
  
"Of course," Elrohir shot back, "unless you have been in the habit since leaving Mirkwood of allowing mortal women to lose their hearts to you!"  
  
" _Allowing?_ Elrohir, I know not if you have ever tried _preventing_ Rowanna doing anything she sets her mind to, but I would doubt of your success!" Legolas protested. "Do you think either of us foresaw this, or intended it? It amazed us both! It amazes me yet..."  
  
"And it amazes _me_ that you seem not to have thought for an instant about what it means!" retorted Elrohir, bringing a fist down in frustration on the windowsill beside him. "Elladan and I sat for hours with Rowanna last night as she cried over everything she has begun to realise these last weeks; as she saw what awaits Arwen..." He let out a long, shaking breath.  
  
"I feared something amiss, when I did not find her at the stables this evening," whispered Legolas. "Elrohir; I know these must be the hardest days for your father's house since... for an Age; but Arwen has chosen. Can there be no joy at all for her kin, that she follows her heart?..."  
  
"You still understand nothing, do you?" cried Elrohir. "Yes, Arwen chooses! And as of Lúthien's line that choice is hers; to offer Aragorn all her life, to the circles of the world and beyond. Break my heart it may, but it is hers to offer - as it is not yours, Thranduilion! You are no Peredhel, are you? Can you pledge Rowanna your whole life, as Arwen will Aragorn tomorrow? Can you swear to abide with her 'as long as ye both shall live', much less 'unto the ending of the world'?..."  
  
"I..." began Legolas, stunned.  
  
"Would you give her children?" demanded Elrohir. "Who might have the lifespan of the Eldar, and lose their mother when they were barely grown – or of Men, and be lost to _you_ in a handful of sun-rounds?... Have you thought of any of this at all?"  
  
"I had a lecture much like this the night before you departed, from a Rohir," Legolas said tensely, "and I begin to wonder if for much the same reason. Are you perchance finding yourself thwarted in your _own_ choice, son of Elrond?..."  
  
Elrohir barked out a bitter laugh. "And thus am I shown truly a Peredhel," he responded ironically. "For were I a mortal Man, I would almost certainly call you to account with a blade for that remark; and were I an Elf, it would never have occurred to you to suggest it – would it? No, I swear to you, Legolas Thranduilion, I merely see tragedy ahead, and would steer you both clear of it if I could!" He ran a hand distractedly through his hair and groaned.  
  
"Have you considered," he asked wearily, "the consequences for either of you if you cleave to Rowanna – if you bind yourselves? She is going to leave the Circles of the World, death will take her where you cannot follow –"  
  
"I know!" Legolas insisted. "And I would bear it –"  
  
"How noble of you," retorted Elrohir. "But if events fell out the other way?" When Legolas looked blank, he exclaimed in exasperation, "You're sea-struck, Legolas; I've seen it! What if before another Lithe – or two, or ten – you can no longer resist the longing, even for Rowanna's sake, and are gone? Must she live all the rest of her life with the heart torn out of her, unable ever to love again – yes, Mortals do do so! – because you bound her to you for eternity and then sailed West?"  
  
Legolas sat down heavily on the bed.  
  
"What should I do?..." he breathed, half to himself.  
  
"What you will _not_ do," said Elrohir firmly, "is go to Rowanna tonight – or, if you heed me, tomorrow either. She has barely slept these last few nights – which is how I finally realised, the more fool I, that something troubled her – and she is in such distress that she needs peace and time and quiet, though with all tomorrow's festivities the Valar know how she is to get any! I gave her cousin a sleeping-draught for her – oh, fear not, Thranduilion, Elladan made it up, he knows his craft! – and strict instructions for no visitors." He turned from the window-sill he had been leaning on.  
  
"I have said what I came for. Think what you will of me, Legolas – but in Elbereth's name, think harder on what you are about!" He paused on the threshhold. "And one other thing – Arwen knows naught of this and nor, I believe, does Estel. Burden either of them with it on their wedding-day, and I shall be forced to behave like a mortal and cut you in two after all!"  
  
He was gone; a moment later Legolas heard the great front door swinging shut. Taking a deep shuddering breath, he got to his feet and latched his own door firmly closed, then swung up on to the windowsill and gazed unseeing at the flawless starry sky. The cautious knocking a few minutes later went unanswered, and eventually Legolas heard footsteps receding down the passageway, leaving him alone with the turmoil of his thoughts.

 ***

Rowanna blinked a few times, rubbed her eyes and then slowly pushed herself up on to her pile of well-plumped downy pillows. _Not on the road any longer, then..._ she thought dazedly, before gradually the sounds from the courtyard below and the smells of old wood and fresh linen brought memory back. _The Annúmellyrn house; Minas Tirith. We're back... Legolas!_ A wave of joy swept over her at the thought, until something else prodded at the edge of her sleep-fogged mind. _There's something wrong –_ Then she remembered in a rush, and for a moment hid her head in her hands.

_I've got to get up. I've got to go and find him –_ Looking around her familiar room she frowned; something else was strange, something about the light... Then a tap at the door heralded the arrival of Líriel the maid with a tray.

"I thought I heard something, mistress – how do you feel? I've brought you some breakfast – not that you can really call it breakfast, at this hour..."

_That's it! The sunlight –_

"Wh-what hour _is_ it, Líriel?"

"Nearly the second after noon," the maid informed her as she set the tray down deftly on the table by Rowanna's bed, "– yes, there, do you hear the day-bells starting? And the heralds all up and down the City this morning were proclaiming that the King and his Elven-lady are to be wed beneath the White Tree at the fourth hour past noon, and you and Master Adramir and Lady Ithildîs are on the Steward's list of those to be in the Court of the Fountain itself to witness it; so I'm glad to find you waking, for we've barely an hour to ready you before my lady says you need to leave!"

" _Afternoon?"_ Rowanna was incredulous, then aghast.

"You've slept half the day away," Líriel agreed, "and you must have needed it, just as the Elven-lord said –"

"Elven-lord? Which –"

"The tall black-haired one all in grey," the maid explained as she poured a cup of green tea for Rowanna, "he came not long after the stable-lad brought you back last night; didn't ask to see you, just my mistress. But he told us very firmly you were not to be disturbed by any till you woke of your own accord – and it's my belief, milady, that he gave Mistress Ithildîs a sleeping-draught for you, for I'm sure the tisane she gave me to bring you when you went to bed didn't smell quite as usual."

_I'll **kill** him. _Rowanna lifted the tea to her lips, then drew back. "Do you swear to me there's nothing untoward in _this_ cup, Líriel?"

"I swear, mistress," the maid insisted, "for I brewed that myself not ten minutes ago, and the pot's not been out of my sight. But don't be too hard on the Elf-lord – you looked so worn out last night, I'm sure you needed to sleep the day round. And so I told Prince Legolas when he came this morning –"

"Legolas has been?" Rowanna sat bolt upright, then yelped as she slopped hot tea down her nightshirt. "Oh, _blast_ it – Líriel, when? What did he say? Is he all right?"

"He's well enough, milady, except half to distraction because he couldn't see you," the girl assured her as she took the lid off a jar of honey and spread some on Rowanna's bread. "I told him what I've just told you – that the other Elf-lord had given us a draught and told us strictly not to waken you. Though I'll admit –" she broke into a shy smile – "the second time he came, not long before noon, I did slip up here and tap at your door, and even come in and say a word to you, just to make sure you weren't near waking; I felt sure he must want it very badly, to have come twice in a couple of day-bells! So I told him to wait in the courtyard, and to say if anyone asked him that I was just fetching him a cool drink, and promised him I'd wake you if I could. But you were so deep asleep..." She blushed a little. "He's – very fair of face, isn't he, mistress? And clearly he thinks the world of you..."

"Oh, Líriel..." Rowanna sighed in frustration. "Here, pass me that bread. Obviously the only way I'm going to see Legolas today is to get myself fed and dressed and up to the Citadel for Arwen's wedding!"

***

Legolas drew a bone comb through his gleaming fall of hair, braided it, tugged shoulder-seams straight on his glittering blue-and-silver tunic, with the unseeing habit born of a thousand formal feasts in Thranduil's halls. _Just as well I can do this with less than half a mind,_ he reflected wryly; two fruitless trips up to the Rath Míriel in as many hours had left him with little time to array himself in the splendour appropriate for the Elessar's wedding to the Evenstar. _I could wonder if that sleeping-draught was made longer-lasting than strictly needed_ , he thought bitterly; _...but no, Elladan is a true healer before all. Had it been Elrohir's, now..._ He clamped down hard on the memory of the previous night's conversation. _Not now. Not the time._ He buffed his boots one more time with a spare piece of linen, and headed for the stairs.

Around him the house was in uproar. "There's a thread loose on this tunic!" cried Pippin, twisting round to look for its source. "Sam –"

"Hold still, Master Pippin, and _don't_ pull at it!" ordered Samwise, appearing calmly enough with his pocket-knife. "I'll trim it and put a quick stitch in."

Merry came in from the pump in the courtyard, shirtless and towelling off his curly hair. "Won't be a moment!" he reassured the horrified Pippin, who was protesting "You're not _dressed_ yet?" and pattered off to their room. Gimli, growling in the corner, was whetting his axe yet again.

"Won't that do now, Gimli?" enquired Frodo gently. "We're not actually expecting any orc-necks to hew today..."

"A Dwarf's axe is more than a weapon, young Frodo, as you should well know by now!" rumbled the Dwarf, testing its edge on his thumb. "'Tis half his soul, and to appear at any ceremony – let alone a wedding – with a blunted blade would be the greatest disrespect!" Satisfied at last, he grunted and slid the axe into its loop at his belt.

"Well now, are you all ready?" The wizard, robed in white from head to toe, loomed in the doorway and surveyed them.

"Just about!" Merry reappeared, doing up his last waistcoat button. "Though I think I'm going to roast in all this finery – the White Tree doesn't cast much shade! Shall we go?"

***

Rowanna walked in her green velvet gown up from the Fifth Circle with Adramir and Ithildîs, a sunshade held over her head and Ithildîs' by one of the servants, with her thoughts in a whirl.

 "Really, Rowanna, do watch where you're going," Ithildîs protested as Rowanna turned for the twentieth time to look over her shoulder and nearly tripped. "What on earth are you looking at?"

"Sorry, Cousin Ithildîs," Rowanna muttered, her gaze still roaming all over the throngs making their way up towards the Citadel. _It's not **what**_ _I'm looking_ _ **at**_ _, it's_ _ **who**_ _I'm looking_ _ **for**_ _..._

Arriving at the entrance to the Court of the Fountain, they had to make their way through a rank of Citadel guards who were keeping back the excited crowds, allowing only those on the official list to pass through into the courtyard. Once within, they were firmly directed to allotted places by a series of equerries; _even if I could see Legolas,_ Rowanna reflected unhappily, _there's no way on Middle-earth I could get to him!_

And then, just as the door of the White Tower opened and Arwen stepped out on her father's arm, she found him; for once he stood not with the Fellowship but with the Galadhrim and the Elves of Rivendell, a prince among his people. Rowanna looked at him, and felt a sharp twisting pain in her chest: he was so impossibly, inhumanly fair; beside the Gondorrim he and all the Elves seemed to shimmer, as though even on this bright sunlit afternoon there was starlight shining from within them. _How could I ever –_

Then Arwen arrived beneath the White Tree, and Master Elrond, with infinite care, took her hand and placed it in Aragorn's, and stepped back to a place between Galadriel and Celeborn; and Gandalf, all in dazzling white, came forward, and the ceremony began.

"...cleave ye only unto him, as long as ye both shall live?"

"I do."

"Will you, Aragorn Elessar heir of Isildur, King of Arnor and Gondor, take this woman, Arwen Undómiel of the line of Lúthien, to be thy wedded wife..."

"...and be faithful unto her, through death's parting and unto the ending of the World?"

"I will."

"Then before the people of Gondor, by the seven stars and seven stones and one White Tree, and in the name of the One who made us all, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife." The wizard broke into a beaming smile. "You may," he added, "kiss the bride." And to the decorous applause of Gondor's nobility, and the rather less restrained cheers and whoops of those craning their necks all along the streets leading up to the Citadel, Aragorn Elessar Telcontar did precisely that.

*******

**Author's Notes:  
**

Frodo's words "At last I understand why we have waited!" are lifted directly from _LoTR_ Book 6 Chapter 5, _The Steward and the King_.

The fragments of Aragorn and Arwen's wedding vows are adapted from the traditional marriage service of the Anglican Church, with obvious tweaking as required. I admit a few borrowings in the wedding scenes from the Peter Jackson version, too, including Legolas' outfit!

 


	44. He Walked Alone and Sorrowing

"Well, this is a to-do, Mister Frodo, and no mistake!" Sam Gamgee ran his finger round the top of his now wilting starched shirt-collar for the hundredth time. They were gathered with many of the other guests in one of the Citadel's several reception-rooms, trying to keep from under the feet of the numerous serving-men in silver and black taking round trays of drinks, and craning their heads in search of other members of the Fellowship. They had all been separated in the crush after the conclusion of the ceremony in the Court of the Fountain; a herald had announced that prior to the feast in the Great Hall which would commence at sunset, drinks would be served in the Citadel, and that the King and the new Queen would be circulating among their guests according to a pre-arranged pattern. As guests left the courtyard, they had been directed by equerries into one room or another, and such was the crush that for those of Hobbit size it was proving very difficult to locate anyone you looked for, if you were able to move through the throng at all.

"You shouldn't be standing so long, either, Mister Frodo, it ain't right," Sam grumbled. "Here – see that seat in the window just over there, where that chap in the blue and his lady have just got up from? You nip across there while the seat's free, and I'll grab us something else to drink and come and find you in a moment."

"All right, Sam, that's a sound plan," Frodo sighed with relief. "I must admit I'm not much enjoying this crowd, especially when it's all Big People! See you in a moment..."

Sam doggedly worked his way to the nearest footman and tapped him on the elbow. The man looked round – then down, and his irritated expression vanished at once.

"Master Ringbearer! What may I do for you?"

"A cool drink – no more wine, just water or such, if you'd be so good," Sam requested. "For Mister Frodo – see, he's sitting over there in the window?" He pointed, and the footman nodded.

"If you will go and sit yourself, Master Samwise, it would be my honour to bring you something – one moment..." He disappeared into the crowd and Sam, mopping his brow, made his way towards the window. Half way there a familiar blue-and-silver tunic crossed his path and Legolas crouched down to greet him.

"Are you all right, Sam? This is not much of a party for those of Hobbit stature!"

"It's a bit of a Midsummer's-fair, isn't it, you could say!" Sam agreed. "But at least I've found Mister Frodo somewhere to sit down now, over in the window, look – he was looking a bit peaky, and I'm not surprised, in this heat. There's a footman bringing us a drink."

"I'm glad, else I'd fetch you one myself," Legolas smiled, then asked abruptly, "Sam – have you seen Rowanna anywhere?"

"Not since the courtyard, I haven't, Legolas. She was across from us halfway up that flight of steps, with that cousin of hers who always looks, begging your pardon, as though she's sucking on a lemon –"

Legolas, far from being offended, threw back his head and laughed. "That describes Lady Ithildîs most aptly, I should say! But I haven't found her since either – I've been working my way through every room as best I can, and I know she's somewhere close, I can _feel_ it – but every time I see a green gown and I get to it, it isn't her. If you see her, Sam, will you try and keep hold of her over there in the window, and I'll look over each time I come through? I need to speak to her..." He broke off, and Sam thought he caught anxiety in the Elf's normally even tones.

"I promise you I'll do just that, Legolas, as soon as ever I see her. Why don't you come and get a breath of air yourself? Crowds don't exactly suit you, either, as I recall..."

"How true, Sam," the Elf sighed. "I would give much to be anywhere but here, if I could only find Rowanna, and have just the Fellowship and Lady Arwen for company tonight! But this evening, I fear, must be endured... I'll see you at dinner, if not before." He slipped smoothly away into the crowd. Sam shook his head and battled his way back to the window, where he found not only Frodo but, out on the adjoining balcony, Merry, Pippin and Gimli seeking solace in a shared pipe.

"Gimli smuggled one in inside his jerkin," Merry explained gleefully, "and a good thing too; I don't think I'd last till dinner without a bit of Longbottom Leaf!" Just then the footman arrived bearing not just one drink, but a large jug of iced water, another of beer, and a whole tray of glasses, "to keep you going until the trumpet sounds for dinner, if need be, little masters." He bowed low to them all and turned neatly on his heel.

"How splendid of him!" exclaimed Pippin. "Though I'm not surprised – that's Falomir, I met him when I was being a Citadel Guard, and he's a very decent sort. Here, who's for some of this beer?"

Hobbits and Dwarf kept to their refuge, largely unnoticed by the crowds, through another day-bell and the official passage through the room of the King and Queen - "for Aragorn knows we wish him well," Merry pointed out, "and I'm sure we can go and call on him and Lady Arwen tomorrow, or soon at any rate, and pay her our compliments – so really, what's the use in getting trampled to do it now?" They had emptied the water-jug, and were a good way down the beer, when the clear sound of a trumpet rang through the room, and the herald was heard announcing:

"My princes, lords, ladies and gentlemen: dinner is served!"

The Hobbits needed no second bidding, and with the connivance of Falomir the footman they managed to cut across, along with Gimli, nearly to the front of the crowd waiting to pass into the Great Hall. Lines of guests were converging on the Hall from several reception-rooms on either side. Looking about him while keeping tight hold of Frodo's arm, Sam saw Legolas heading purposefully back towards them; and then, as he looked towards the other side –

"Mistress Rowanna!" Sam exclaimed, standing on tiptoe and dropping Frodo's arm to wave. "Rowanna – Legolas is looking for you! Oh darn it, Mister Frodo, I don't think she can hear me –"

"She's seen Legolas, though," Frodo assured him. "Look..."

And she had, for across the heads of the intervening crowd blocking the way between Elf and mortal woman, Sam clearly saw Rowanna turn against the tide of people; helpless to reach Legolas, she mouthed desperately over her shoulder to him before the steadily moving line of guests swept her along into the hall: " _I love you..."_

_Well, that's no great surprise,_ Sam mused as the Hobbits and Gimli in turn were ushered into the hall and directed to their places, and Legolas caught up with them and took his allotted seat alongside them. _But what I want to know is – why did telling him that make her look so stricken, and why did he look as though she'd shot him through the heart?..._

There was no way he could find out for now, he thought as he took his seat, carefully bolstered for him with extra cushions to bring him to the height of the great feasting-table: Legolas was opposite him across the table, beyond any sort of discreet whisper, and Rowanna was a dozen places further down – on Sam's side of the table but well past his reach, among some City nobles or other, Sam supposed. He shook his head; then Frodo nudged him and he scrambled hastily back to his feet, as a majordomo at the end of the Hall's great dais announced,

"My princes, lords, ladies and gentlemen: the King Elessar and Queen Arwen Evenstar!"

***

Dish after sumptuous dish appeared on the silver-clothed table: tiny mushroom pastries, quails, fish, roasts, until even the Hobbits slowed down and began to look about them rather than eat. The noise in the hall was nearly deafening, with the conversation of what must have been close on a thousand guests, the chink of glasses and the clatter of plates, and to be heard at all Sam had to speak directly into the ear of his companions. As the second dessert arrived, Pippin nudged him. "I'd hardly recognise this place from the first time I saw it," he yelled cheerfully. "All these silk hangings between the pillars, and all the candles – there must be thousands of them! When I peeked in on my way with Gandalf to meet –" he swallowed – "meet my lord Denethor, it was empty and chill, and pretty forbidding, I can tell you!"

Sam nodded absently, toying with a spoonful of the pears stewed in wine, while in reality trying to lean over unobtrusively to look down the table towards Rowanna. _I haven't seen her eat a mouthful all evening,_ he brooded unhappily; _she's just picking at it to pretend. And every time I look over, I catch her gazing at Legolas, or him at her, as though the heart's drawn out of them – those two badly need to say something to each other, and they aren't going to rest easy till they get the chance!_

Up on the dais, Aragorn and Arwen sat under a great silver-canopied throne, their heads close together; _and I've never seen anyone look so happy,_ Sam realised with a great rush of affection for Strider and his new queen. _Though Master Elrond, now... it must be hard for him, his daughter marrying so far from home, and a Mortal at that. And if he's going to be sailing West..._ Elrond was sitting between Galadriel and Faramir; Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was seated on Lady Galadriel's other side and looked, Sam thought, both delighted and very slightly stunned beneath his ever-urbane surface.

As the last dessert course was cleared away and dishes of nuts and fruit were placed all up and down the long tables, the King rose to his feet; the majordomo banged his staff thunderously on the dais, and a hush fell.

"People of Gondor, Rivendell and Lothlórien," Aragorn began, "kith, kin, and friends from distant lands – Arnor, the Greenwood, Dale and the Shire..." He caught Sam's eye for an instant, and the Hobbit flushed with pleasure. _Good old Strider..._

Aragorn went on, thanking his Steward, Master Elrond, Mithrandir and all those who had played their part in the day – and finally, to murmurs of approval and thumps on the table from the less restrained sections of the hall, his Queen.

"As is customary," the King finished, "the musicians will shortly be entertaining us. Less customary here in the White City, though, is that tonight we will first be hearing a minstrel of my Queen's home in the north; Lindir of Rivendell, with Nenglîr to harp for him. The Queen tells me –" he looked down proudly at Arwen – "that she and Lindir spent much time on their long journey south preparing the piece we are to hear tonight; for it comes from a much longer Elven lay in the _ann-thennath_ mode, which the scholars among you may know," he turned and quirked an eyebrow smiling at his Steward, "but much shortened and cast into Westron for tonight's feast. The tale in question is very dear to me," he reached to lay a hand on Arwen's shoulder, "and when you hear it some of you may understand why my Queen felt it particularly apt for this night of all nights. My lords, ladies and gentlemen; I pray your good hearing for the musicians of Rivendell."

A murmur of anticipation rose all around the hall as Lindir and Nenglîr arranged themselves at the side of the dais, Lindir standing, Nenglîr seated with her small harp on her lap. As she gently drew a rippling sequence of opening chords from it, Frodo drew in a breath and whispered into Sam's ear,

"I know that opening! They're going to give us the _Lay of Leithian_!"

"Wasn't that the one we heard in Rivendell," Sam murmured back, "that took nearly all night?"

"Yes, but you heard what Aragorn said – they've shortened it, they're just going to sing a few parts. About the love of Beren and Lúthien, I should think..."

_Of course._ The penny dropped, as Sam remembered with pleasure the long dramatic tale unfolding in Rivendell's Hall of Fire. _The love of an Elf and a Mortal – that's why –_ Then, as he put down his wineglass and prepared to listen, he caught sight of Legolas gazing down the table at Rowanna, and felt a sudden, leaden weight drop into the pit of his stomach. _Oh. Oh, lor'._ But too late; Nenglîr with a flourish gave Lindir his cue, the Elf took a deep breath, and began.

_Mister Frodo was right,_ Sam realised after a handful of verses; _they've just told the bare bones of all the early part, with Beren meeting Lúthien in the forest, and then going to steal the Silmarils back from Sauron and all. They're really starting at the bit where Beren dies, just when you think they've won..._

"And thus in anguish Beren paid  
For that great doom upon him laid,  
the deathless love of Lúthien,  
too fair for love of mortal Men;  
and in his doom was Lúthien snared,  
the deathless in his dying shared;  
and Fate them forged a binding chain  
of living love and mortal pain."

In the utterly silent hall Sam thought he heard a gasp that sounded like Rowanna's, though he could not see. The rippling waves of the harp and Lindir's clear, lilting voice went on:

"Grief beyond words took Lúthien then;  
As Beren left the world of Men  
she felt her heart break in her breast,  
immortal life but bitter jest  
if all that life she'd only mourn  
the love which travail sore had borne.  
"Beren, beloved, wait for me  
beyond the shores of western Sea!"  
Thus crying fell she, without breath,  
And all bewailed fair Lúthien's death..."

The faintest rustle of alarm went round the listeners: _and no wonder,_ thought Sam, _for if you didn't know how the tale's going to turn out you'd think this a pretty rum thing to sing at a marriage-feast, and no mistake!_ Looking up to the dais he saw Faramir, his chin on his hand, gazing rapt at the singer; _he's not worried, great scholar that by all accounts he is, he knows exactly what comes next. And to have a minstrel from Rivendell singing in his very hall is about the best gift Strider and Lady Arwen could have given him!_

 The Lay wound on, through Lúthien's coming to the shores of the Outer Sea, then to the Halls of Mandos where she knelt imploring before the Valar to plead for Beren's life:

"As at stern Mandos' feet she knelt,  
both Elves and Valar listening felt  
that such pure sorrow should melt stone;  
Tinúviel sang of love alone,  
Which fortresses and fiends defied  
Yet could not help that Beren died..."

Sam reached for his wineglass, and as he looked up saw Legolas unmoving and rigid, staring stricken down the table at Rowanna as though frozen in his seat. Lindir's exquisite voice carried across the hushed hall, now enacting Lúthien's great plea to Manwë in all its pathos;

"A life in bliss in Valinor?  
What joy beyond the Western Shore  
could years unnumbered hold for me  
if parted Beren from me be?  
Nay, rather would th'uncounted years  
be measured out in bitter tears.  
Grant us, great Manwë, this one boon;  
That though our deaths come late or soon  
Beren and I may never part;  
And beating one with his, my heart  
May with his at our life's end cease,  
Our paths entwined in strife or peace  
Beyond the Circles of the World..."

Legolas was white-faced, gripping the edge of the table. Sam craned forward as best he could and saw Rowanna gazing at the Elf desperately, looking as though a knife were being twisted in her heart. _Stop it!_ he wanted to cry to the minstrels, _stop, can't you see what this is doing to them?_ But the Lay went on:

"And thus upon Tol Galen's isle  
Tis said unseen did dwell awhile  
Erchamion and Tinúviel;  
Beyond the power of song to tell  
Or when or where they passed away."

The musicians were reaching the climax now; Sam looked towards the dais and saw Arwen, looking not at the minstrel but gazing at Aragorn, her fingers intertwined with his:

"Remember, ye who hearken here  
The doom that Manwë uttered clear;  
Alone among both Elves and Men  
To Lúthien's line was it given  
That mortal and immortal life  
Might thus entwine as man and wife."

Lindir drew out the last few notes of the line in a clear token of ending; the harp's rippling music rose in one great, final wave then died away in a vanishing shimmer of sound. Aragorn turned his wife's face to his and, solemnly, kissed her.

Faramir, Sam realised, was blinking hard and wiping his eyes; then the Steward brought his hands together, leading what rapidly swelled to become a storm of applause. The musicians turned towards the guests of honour, looking confused – _of course,_ Sam remembered, _Elves don't clap, when they really think something was special there's just that long, long hush –_ then Arwen's nods and smiles showed them that all was well, that this was Mortal appreciation, and they turned together and began to bow to the assembled company. People were banging on the tables, standing to applaud the performance, and the waiting-staff were once more moving about the hall. In the hubbub, only those sitting closest would have noticed Rowanna pushing back her chair, to a sharp objection from Ithildîs, and stumbling blindly from the table; nor Legolas, a moment later, getting up grim-faced, not noticing Pippin's exclamation or Gimli's protest, and marching out of the hall in the opposite direction.

***

Legolas leaned against the cool stone of the City's walls in the starlight, still shaking. In his first, blind flight from the Citadel he had wandered he knew not where, wanting only to get away from the feast before he was utterly undone; to relieve the unbearable expression on Rowanna's face when she looked at him.

Now, coming to, he tried to get his bearings, needing something other than the dizzying weight of white stone to orient himself by. The whisper of the night breeze in the leaves of a small tree – a lilac, he thought, from its scent - provided the clue, for he remembered that fragrance in a sidestreet of the Fourth Circle.

In which case, if he dropped down to the right _here_ and cut across _that_ alleyway, a few minutes would take him to the Fellowship's lodging; but...

_Are you simply going to let be?_ he challenged himself. _When you saw what destruction the Lay wrought in Rowanna's heart as surely as it did in yours? Are you not going to her?...  
_  
What he could possibly say to her, other than _Yes, I know_ , he had no idea; but the thought of leaving matters as they stood was not to be borne. Taking a deep breath, he turned instead upwards once more, towards the Street of the Jewels.

Rowanna's window was in darkness; Legolas ascended soundlessly to the sill, but heard nothing within, and all his senses insisted that Rowanna was not there. He was certain she would not have gone back in to the feasting-hall any more than he could have contemplated doing so himself. Defeated, he dropped back into the street and gazed up at the night sky, beseeching Elbereth for inspiration. Then –

_The dream_. The image hit him like a blow. _The vision I could not shake off, that night on the way to the Black Gate..._ Rowanna, alone and weeping inconsolably, in the garden of the Houses of Healing.

He turned up the shortest way to the Houses with feet of lead, _for now I know the dream spoke truly; and worse, I fear there will be no help for it, because I know why._

The small side gate which led into the gardens of the Houses was closed, but not locked, and the latch gave only a muted click as Legolas cautiously lifted it. Somewhere in the undergrowth a small animal rustled in alarm, then settled. All around him the warm night breathed; though his keen eyes read the muted grey tones of the starlit garden effortlessly, Rowanna was nowhere in sight. But he caught the faint, muffled sound of a sob; and in any case, he knew exactly where she would be, now.

He came around by the end of the evergreen hedge, deliberately noisy, wanting her to have time to know he approached. But her face was buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking, and he could not be sure she had heard him before he softly spoke her name.

She was very still for a moment; then she looked up, and he thought his heart would tear in two. Tears were running down her face in a steady, silent stream; and from the swollen state of her eyes she must already have been weeping for a long, long time.

" _Melethen_ , I –" He slid into place at the far end of the stone bench; tentatively he reached out a hand, then winced inwardly as Rowanna shrank away.

" _Don't_ , Legolas, please! We _can't –_ " Yet even without his touch, the waves of emotion coming from her were palpable; wanting and longing and the steel-sharp pain of newly realised inescapable loss, mirroring his own.

"I've been trying to reach you all day, but first you were sleeping, and then those endless, cursed crowds...It was the Lay, wasn't it? I should have seen it all long ago; you tried to warn me even at Cormallen, but I did not want to hear..."

"I-it was all there, already; the Lay just brought it all out and laid it bare, so that I knew all the wanting in the world couldn't make it possible. _A binding chain of living love and mortal pain..._ They had the greatest love of any Age, they overturned death; and yet –"

"...we cannot be Lúthien and Beren, or even Arwen and Aragorn." Legolas thumped the stone beneath him in frustration. "I cannot swear to go with you even beyond the Circles of the World, _melethen_ – I cannot! There is no such choice in my Song! I know not even in truth how long I may have the strength to linger in Middle-earth against the pull of the Sea, and then leave you -"

"And who knows whether as the rest of the Ages passed you would forget me?" Rowanna said softly, as though to herself. "When all the longing in my being could not hold me to you longer than the blink of an eye?..."

"I could not!" the Elf protested. "Never!"

Rowanna shook her head sadly. "And if we were bound, then when one of us must leave this world behind..."

_I cannot ask it of you_. The words hung between them, unspoken, in the air.

"We can't – do this..." said Rowanna unsteadily at last, "...can we?"

"I would have –" Legolas choked to a standstill. "Oh, Rowanna, _melethen_ , I have no answer for you; I have brought down armies, you turned back the darkness, but if Lúthien's love could not hold Beren within the Circles of the World, what power have we to rewrite the Song or change the Music in its course? Live. Love. Be happy. Elbereth guide you, guard and protect you..."

"Go," Rowanna sobbed out. "Please – go..."

Once more he reached out, and this time his fingertips came within a leaf's-breadth of brushing the tears from her face. Then, in the first ungraceful movement Rowanna had ever seen from him, he stumbled to his feet and, blindly, ran. "To the end of the world..." Rowanna whispered, gazing after him into the gathering darkness, until he was long gone.

She sat much longer, her breath coming in ragged, juddering bursts, dry sobs with no tears left to weep. At last, moving as gingerly as when she had just left her Rivendell sickbed the previous autumn, she forced herself to her feet and made her way, slowly and painfully, through the City's dark streets back to the House of the Annúmellyrn.

*******

**Author's Note:  
**

The first quoted stanza of the _Lay of Leithian_ is Tolkien's own. The rest I have to admit I wrote myself (plot, rhymescheme and scansion JRRT's, words mine) as JRRT never got around to finishing the bits I needed.


	45. On Journey Long Without a Word

Putting down his third steaming mug of tea Aragorn stretched mightily, yawned, and smiled across the breakfast-table at his wife who was neatly slicing a ripe peach.

"How does my Queen on her first morning married?"

"More than well, with this wonderful fruit," Arwen beamed back at him. "I see you've taught the kitchens already to make tea in enough strength and quantity to keep a whole company of Rangers awake for a week!"

"You forget," Aragorn chuckled, "that the Citadel kitchens have been supplying Faramir - and Boromir..." - his face shadowed for an instant - "for years; they're well aware of how Rangers like their brew! But have you had all you want, dearest?"

"Plenty," Arwen assured him, licking peach-juice from her fingers, "unless, of course – " she looked sidelong from under her long black lashes – "you want to come back to bed again…"

"Tempt me not, Evenstar," her husband chuckled, "albeit we have waited half a Mortal lifetime to yield to temptation! We didn't get up till the morning was half gone as it is, and I suspect poor Húrin may already be cooling his heels in one of the antechambers –"

At that moment there was a brisk rap at the door – "See?" enquired Aragorn, rolling his eyes – and Haradir, Aragorn's equerry, slipped in and bowed.

"Forgive me, Sire, Lady Arwen; all your appointments for today were cancelled as instructed, my lord, but – Master Samwise Gamgee the _Cormacolindo_ is outside and is very anxious to see you…"

"Sam is?" Aragorn sat bolt upright. "Show him in, Haradir, at once." As Haradir disappeared again, he and Arwen exchanged a concerned glance. "I hope to goodness Frodo –"

Sam came pattering in, bowed hastily to Arwen, and burst out:

"Begging your pardon for intruding, Lady Arwen, but - oh, Strider – I mean Sire, oh, dear –"

"Never mind that now, Sam," Aragorn urged, getting up from his seat and dropping to one knee in front of the agitated Hobbit. "Try to be calm, and tell me what's wrong; has something happened to Frodo?"

"Mister Frodo? Oh no, Strider, Frodo's fine – it's Mistress Rowanna. I _knew_ after last night something was wrong – and now she's gone, and we can't find Legolas anywhere!"

Once Aragorn had seated Sam firmly in an armchair, and Arwen had poured him tea and gently persuaded him to take a few sips, the Hobbit calmed down somewhat. Having woken that morning anxious about Rowanna, and finding Legolas' room empty and his bed unslept in, Sam had enlisted Pippin and gone up to the Rath Míriel to enquire after her. There he had initially been told simply that Rowanna was not at home to callers; but after he and Pippin had reluctantly left a message with the doorward and turned away, they had been called back to the side-gate by a maid whom Pippin had recognised as Líriel, clearly upset.

"Líriel said that Mistress Rowanna came back early from the feast last night, before the lord and lady of the house, and she'd gone straight up to her room, see," Sam explained. "She didn't answer when Líriel knocked, so she left her be, thinking she was tired and just wanted to go straight to bed. But then when Líriel went to take her breakfast up this morning, Rowanna was gone! – and so were her spare riding-clothes and her few odds and ends; and she'd left a note. Líriel can't read, so she took it first to the housekeeper before she showed her mistress; and the note said she thanked Master Adramir and Mistress Ithildîs for their hospitality, but she could stay in Minas Tirith no longer, and she was going south to Dol Amroth to join her mother…"

Aragorn rapped out a swift order to Haradir, who nodded and vanished, then asked "And Legolas, Sam? You said he's not to be found either?"

"Nowhere about the house, and no-one saw him last night," Sam confirmed miserably. "I was up and about early, and I'd have heard that great front door of ours – unless he just climbed out of a window, o' course! Gimli's gone down on to the Pelennor to the farmer and his wife who stable Arod, to see if he's gone riding, but…"

"What did you mean, Sam," gently asked Arwen, who had been listening closely to the whole exchange, "when you said you knew _after last night_ something was wrong? What happened last night?" The Hobbit sighed heavily.

"I thought as no-one else had noticed," he admitted, "just those of us as were sat close by them. It was the minstrels from Rivendell, Lady Arwen, and the _Lay_ – all that story of Beren dying, and Lúthien giving up the immortal life to save him – well, it was just too much for both of 'em, I could see how much it was hurting 'em just to listen, bein' as how –" He broke off.

" _Ohh._ " Arwen breathed out slowly. "Sam, I think I understand –"

"She loves him," Sam said stoutly. "I saw her say so. And if I'm any judge then he loves her back, and it's breakin' both their hearts, and neither of 'em has the first idea what to do about it." He twisted his mug of tea unhappily around in both hands.

Aragorn called sharply for the equerry again. "Haradir, get the whole City searched at once for Prince Legolas, if you please. Send down to the Gate to know if he has passed in or out since daybreak. And when he is found, please let him know that I would be grateful if he would wait upon me at his _earliest_ convenience." He turned back to the unhappy Hobbit.

"Sam, I'm glad that you came and told us. Is there anything else you think we ought to know?" When the Hobbit shook his head, he went on, "Then there's not much to be gained from keeping you waiting about here. Why don't you go on back down to Frodo and the others; they'll be wanting to know what's happened. I promise that the moment there's any news, I'll send down to you at once. And if Legolas should reappear, grab the first guardsman you see and get word up here to me! I'll get someone to see you back down to the Third. Thank you – and try not to worry…"

When the Hobbit had gone, Arwen sank back down into her chair.

" _Ai_ , Estel; I have been completely blind. And poor Rowanna – unknowing, I have said all the worst possible things…"

"Well, you may have been blind, but I am still in the dark," protested her husband; "you have been with Rowanna the last fortnight – what exactly has been going on?"

As Arwen recounted something of her conversations with Rowanna on the journey from Edoras, Aragorn paced the room chewing furiously on his pipe-stem; Haradir reappeared and made a report, to which the King listened intently before issuing another swift set of instructions.

"Well, now we just have to wait till Legolas is found," he observed, perching briefly on the arm of Arwen's chair and resting his chin on top of her dark head. "Not how I planned to spend our first morning married, beloved, I admit! Do you want to go down to the gardens? - I can send to let you know when there's news..."

Arwen shook her head. "I'll wait with you. I want to know – I should have seen it, I could see on the southward road that Rowanna was unhappy, but I thought –" She broke off.

"That she was just catching Elrohir and Elladan's mood?" Aragorn folded his arm around her more tightly. "It would have been understandable enough." He sighed, got up and resumed pacing the room; Arwen drew her knees up, rested her head on them and watched him.

The next day-bell had chimed from the top of the White Tower by the time Haradir reappeared. "Prince Legolas is found, Sire, and asks your pardon and Lady Arwen's for the delay in reaching him; he is on his way up to the Citadel."

"Where was he, Haradir?" Arwen asked softly.

"In the gardens of the Houses of Healing, I understand, milady," the equerry replied; "looking out over Anduin... in a tree." He bowed neatly and disappeared again.

Aragorn smiled, but ruefully. "Legolas has been complaining to me ever since we arrived in Minas Tirith of the City's shortage of trees, and indeed growing things of all kinds. Clearly I should accept his offer to bring the People of the Wood to plant and tend!"

He got no further, for at that moment, the door opened noiselessly and, unannounced, Legolas slipped in.

He was wearing the previous night's blue and silver tunic, and his braided hair still gleamed; to any Gondorrim observing, the Elf had probably appeared as composed as ever. But as he entered Arwen went very still; then she got to her feet and, crossing the room to Legolas, took both his hands in hers and looked for a long moment into his face. She nodded slowly.

"I will be down in the gardens," she said gently, "if either of you needs me." Then with a momentary rustle of skirts she was gone. Elven prince and Mortal king regarded each other warily.

"Please tell me you are not going to ask me _what is wrong_ , Aragorn," Legolas said eventually, folding his arms.

"As long as you are not going to pretend that nothing is!" Aragorn shot back. "No, I was rather going to ask you if you could shed any light on the news which a very anxious Samwise brought Arwen and myself an hour or more ago, and which we have since confirmed at the Gate and the Citadel stables; Rowanna is gone."

" _What?"_ The colour drained from Legolas' face. "Gone where? When? With whom?"

"According to the note she apparently left for her cousin's household; gone south to Dol Amroth, to join her mother. As to when; the stable-lad says she was saddling Gelion before dawn – and the guards on the Great Gate report a horse and rider matching their description waiting for the Gate to be opened at first light. And although they urged her to wait for a caravan or an errand-rider going south, she left alone."

"Are there guard-posts on the Dol Amroth road?" the Elf demanded urgently, glancing out of the window at the sun overhead.

"You want her stopped?" Aragorn's eyebrows shot up.

" _No!"_ Legolas whirled back to face him. "Dragged back to the City like a criminal or an errant child – what purpose would that serve? She has made her choice, and it is not for me to have you undo it! I only want to know that – she is safe..." His voice cracked a little, and he crossed to the window and leant heavily on the sill, looking out southward towards the Harlond and the river.

"There we have already made some progress," Aragorn reassured him. "Imrahil had an errand-rider due to set out for Dol Amroth today in any case, so I have... commandeered him. He has orders to catch Rowanna up – which he should readily do given that he can get a change of horse at every post – and then, unobtrusively, to keep pace with her, and to send back word by the northbound couriers of where they are. We'll know when she reaches Dol Amroth." He walked over to the window in his turn and faced Legolas. "So now perhaps you will explain to me just what happened last night to cause Rowanna to flee Minas Tirith without a word as soon as the Great Gate was opened this morning?"

Legolas heaved a great sigh.

"It began at the feast; the singing of _Leithian_ … We both knew then what others had been telling us but I, at least, had wanted not to see; that for those not of the descent of Lúthien Tinúviel, between Firstborn and Aftercomers even the greatest love cannot undo time, or death, or the pain of loss… And then – she was in the gardens of the Houses, weeping her heart out just as I once dreamed it, and – and…" He stumbled to a halt.

"Do you love her?" Aragorn held the Elf's gaze steadily.

"Do I –" Legolas exhaled hard in frustration. "I am not even sure what the word can _mean_ , Aragorn, between a Mortal and an Elf! Would I give up my life and go straight to Mandos for her sake? Yes. Can I promise to cherish and protect her lifelong? No. Are we bound together, she and I, even though we have never yet joined in body? I don't know. But this much I will tell you; when I look at her the blood in my veins runs like fire and my heart is drawn out of my body. When I bury my face in her hair then I feel as though I breathed in the essence of Arda itself, and while she holds me I am grounded even against the pull of the Sea. And when I make her smile or hear her laugh then I know myself more alive, in that moment, than ever in all the _yeni_ of my life. Does that answer your question?" He ran his hands distractedly back over his hair, sending braids flying.

"I rather think it does." Aragorn nodded slowly. "Regardless of what word you might choose to use, in the Grey Tongue or the Common – or the Ancient for that matter. What it does not tell me, as Rowanna's King and kinsman and as your dear friend, is what on earth is to be done with the pair of you."

"There is nothing _to be done_ , as you put it," Legolas said heavily. "This is not some… some misunderstanding, Aragorn, which requires only for you to exercise the authority of king or chieftain to drag Rowanna back to the White City, and bring us together, for her to fall into my arms! We have each thought on it all these last weeks, worried, wept, talked – we said to each other all that there was to say last night… and we made our choice." He rested his elbows on the sill and buried his face in his hands. "It is over," he said, muffled through his fingers. "She is gone."

Aragorn watched him for a long moment, then rested a hand on the Elf's shoulder. "Then I am truly sorry for it," he said simply. And then: "Who else knows of it?"

Legolas took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up. "Sam, as you saw – and therefore Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship, I would imagine; at any rate, they all saw me, and probably Rowanna too, fleeing the feast last night. Arwen, now; and," he finished bitterly, "your brethren know – Elladan and Elrohir."

" _Do_ they indeed?" Aragorn turned from the window and went to find his pipe.

"Rowanna broke down on the last night of the ride south from Edoras, when she had been fretting herself sleepless and sick for days over all that Arwen had said about the Choice of Lúthien, and told them it all," Legolas said grimly. "After which Elrohir came storming down from the Citadel as soon as they arrived in the White City, accused me of losing my senses, and threatened to cut me to shreds if I breathed a word to you or to Arwen on your wedding-day…"

"I would have been interested to see him try," the King remarked. "I had better add the two of them to the growing list of people whose presence I need to request…" He paced over to the side-table which held his tobacco-pouch.

"Go down to Arwen in the garden," he said firmly. "If nothing else, the scents of herb and flower may ease your heart more than keeping within doors. And tell her I will be down in a little while."

Legolas nodded, mutely, and slipped out of the door. Aragorn found his tinder and flint, threw himself down in an armchair and, with a sigh of relief, took a long, thoughtful pull on his pipe.

***

Míranna drew the door of the guestroom softly to with a sigh, and made her way back downstairs to Almiel's sitting-room. Pennastir's wife was leaning against a pile of cushions on her day-bed, a writing-tablet propped on her knee and one of the housemaids standing at her elbow.

"...the seabass with fennel and lemons, I should think, as long as you can get them at the market; and plenty of salad for tomorrow, for if it's as hot as today then no-one's likely to want a heavy meal –" She looked up as Míranna came in. "That will do, thank you, Ithilwen." Then as the maid bobbed a curtsey and disappeared she asked anxiously,

"How is she?"

"Exhausted, above all else." Míranna lowered herself into a chair near the window, enjoying the sea breeze lifting the fine muslin drapes which took the harshest edge off the strong afternoon light. "She's been on the road for days – spending the nights in goodness knows what sort of beds in roadside inns – and from her own account she can't have slept properly for weeks before that..."

"To ride all that way alone!" Almiel shook her head.

"I don't know what Adra was thinking of," commented Pennastir as he came in with a tall glass of lemonade for his wife, "letting her set off unaccompanied..."

"I rather doubt that Adramir and Ithildîs were consulted," Míranna observed dryly; "my daughter has inherited all the headstrong tendencies of her distaff side, Pennastir, I'm afraid! By her own account, she packed her saddlebags the night of the King's wedding, left a note on her bedside table and was gone from Minas Tirith by first light."

"We owe the King a great debt," Pennastir admitted. "Making sure she was escorted without her knowing it, and then sending the messenger here to ensure she had reached us safely."

"But... _why_?" Almiel asked in wonder.

"That I have promised not to say too much about, even to you, for the moment," Míranna replied, shaking her head sadly, "but... suffice it to say that Rowanna has been most unlucky in love."

***

Gimli sat on a treestump at the edge of a great clearing, whittling a stick, and glancing up from time to time at Legolas. The Elf knelt in the centre of the open space, head bowed, unmoving. The grass was beginning to grow again, but plain still to see in the slanting autumn sunlight were the outlines of many huge pits – cleansed by the Lady Galadriel, according to Legolas, after she had put forth her power to break the very walls of the fortress stone from stone; the dead decently buried, those for whom there could be neither hope nor help gently eased on their way to Mandos, the pits filled in and left for the forest to reclaim.

"No cairn?" he had enquired curiously of Legolas. "Not even a carved slab let into the ground as their memorial?" and the Elf's eyes had glittered.

"They need nor stone nor cairn whose grave is here," he had anwered grimly. "We will remember." And Gimli believed him. _Not so long as a single Elf lingers in Middle-earth will they forget the name of Dol Guldur._

At last Legolas rose, stood another long moment, and came back to him. The Dwarf could see the tracks of tears on his face. Eventually Legolas said bleakly:

"So many, Gimli. So many _yeni,_ so many _f_ _ëar_..."

"It's done," was all the Dwarf could think to say. "And you and I played both our part in that."

Legolas breathed out hard. "That we did... Very well, then. Northwards."

"Through this endless forest?" Gimli baulked. Legolas, to the Dwarf's relief, chuckled.

"Not with Arod; it will be long, I fear, even by Elven count before this southern part of Mirkwood can give up that name and will be open enough for riding! We'll turn back out of the forest, skirt its southern edge and then ride north up the eastern flank, and follow Celduin up to the Long Lake; much faster going for Arod and better grazing too. With luck, another moon-round will see us at Esgaroth." He quirked an eyebrow at the Dwarf. "And by that road, of course, we'll avoid the whole question of whether Father would offer, or you would accept, the hospitality of our halls..."

Gimli merely grunted. "Come on, then. Tell that poor beast he can't have any more grass and must bear his double burden once again, and let's get on our way."

*******

**Author's Notes:**

_Cormacolindo:_ Ring-bearer.

_Celduin_ : the River Running, which in its course south-eastwards from Erebor to the Sea of Rhûn flows parallel to much of the eastern border of Mirkwood, passing through the Long Lake.


	46. And In a Noon of Gold

"Hail! Who goes there?" A tall Man clad in green and brown, a bow strung in his hand, emerged from the oak and beech woods alongside the path as Rowanna and Gelion approached Emyn Arnen, alerted by the whistled signal from their Ranger escort. Rowanna reined in and inclined her head to him; the Ranger and his fellow exchanged a few swift words of Sindarin before Rowanna's escort bowed to her in the saddle, accepted her thanks, and turned his mount around.

"Rowanna daughter of Míranna, as guest of the Steward and Prince of Ithilien," she presented herself to the sentry. "The Steward had intended to escort me himself, but he is delayed at Council in the City, and gave me leave to ride on ahead." She leant down from the saddle and passed the sentry the note Faramir had hastily penned early that morning before going in to the Council session.

"I must ask you to forgive me," he had said ruefully as he wrote, "and I shall certainly have to get down on bended knee and begÉowyn's pardon too, for I had promised her I would be back today! But these wretched negotiations with the Haradri ambassadors drag on; and tedious though trade and tariffs may seem, if we cannot reach agreement we'll have unrest on our southern borders ere long that we can ill afford. Aragorn wants resolution, and I cannot leave him unsupported in that, for there are elements on the Council who would urge a more... aggressive approach." He sighed as he finished the note and handed it to her. "You're sure you will not wait another day in the City, and we'll go together?"

"Truly, Faramir," Rowanna assured him, "I would much rather make a start – Minas Tirith seems stifling in this heat after Dol Amroth!" _And I was hoping Ithild_ _î_ _s would be gone south for the summer by the time I got here,_ she added inwardly, _whereas she's here for another week_ _dropping unsubtle hints about the urgent need for me to make myself respectable by finding a husband._ _Besides, everywhere I go..._ In just two days in Minas Tirith, she had found herself almost in tears half a dozen times, caught unawares by the sharp pain of memory: **_that_** _street is where the Fellowship stayed, that's the windowsill he used to climb_ _over_ _, that alley leads up to the Houses..._ "From what you say, the roads are safe enough –"

"There will be plenty of traffic as far as Anduin," Faramir agreed as he got to his feet, "and that note will get you the use of my barge to cross with Gelion, and an escort the rest of the way. Not that there's any danger – all the land between Emyn Arnen and Henneth Annûn is at peace now under the Rangers' watch – but were Gelion to go lame or lose a shoe anywhere across the River you might have a long walk to find any help. Except, of course, for –" He broke off as an equerry strode into the antechamber and bowed.

"Your pardon, my Lord Steward, but the King is most anxious to begin –"

"I shall be with him straight." Faramir shook Rowanna by the hand and turned to go. "Fair journey to you, my lady. And do give my sincere regard and my contrition to my wife, else I may not dare return at all!"

Now the sentry swiftly scanned Faramir's note, and nodded. "Be welcome to Emyn Arnen, my lady. If you follow this path till it forks, and then take the right fork, you'll come to the house in a few minutes. The stables lie behind the house to the southern side, and you should find water, hay and oats there in plenty."

Rowanna thanked him and took the path as directed, grateful for the shade of the trees in the fierce afternoon sun. A few moments later, the woods opened out into a clearing. Towards the rear of it, cradled by the gentle rise of the hills behind, stood a simple white stone house, muslin drapes stirring in the breeze at its open windows. Rowanna smiled in relief, clicked to Gelion and made her way around to the stables.

Once she had introduced the horse to a pair of admiring stable-lads, and seen him watered, rubbed down and comfortably bestowed in a stall, Rowanna walked back round to the house. The great oak front door stood ajar; after a moment's hesitation, though, Rowanna lifted the wrought iron knocker and let it fall. Footsteps sounded within, and a minute later a middle-aged woman in a neat grey dress, fair hair covered in a white cap, appeared.

"How may I serve you, sir?" she began. Then a moment later, looking more closely at Rowanna, "Oh, I beg your pardon – milady! It – it was the breeches, if you'll excuse me..."

"Please, don't worry," Rowanna chuckled. "I know all too well the ladies of Gondor are accustomed to ride in skirts; but I was too many years away from the Southlands to change my habit now! My name is Rowanna; I'm here as a guest of the Steward, but he's been delayed at Council in the City and so we agreed that I would ride on ahead..."

"Oh – yes, milady, we were expecting you. Please, do come in. My name is Frideswide; I'm housekeeper to Lady Éowyn –"

"And came with her from the Golden Hall, I would guess?" Rowanna asked in Rohirric, and won a beaming smile in response.

"Why yes, mistress! How come you to speak our tongue?"

"I was born and brought up in the Riddermark –"

"Well, imagine that! Come within now, mistress, where it's cooler, and let me fetch you something to eat and drink after your ride." The housekeeper ushered Rowanna within to a comfortable dining-room, its shutters partially closed to keep out the harshest of the afternoon heat and light. "I'll let my lady know you've arrived as soon as she wakes, for she's resting just now –"

"Is Éowyn ill?" Rowanna asked, concerned.

"No, no, have no fear – she's just a little tired these days what with –" the housekeeper checked herself – "the heat, and needs to rest after the noon-meal. Let me get you that drink."

Refreshed with a long cold beaker of small beer and a plate of bread, cold meats and cheese, Rowanna talked happily in Rohirric with the housekeeper, who was intrigued to find out how such a Gondorian-looking woman came to have lived in the Mark; and who also told her a little about the household and, as she warmed to her theme, confided her belief about the truth of Éowyn's fatigue.

"It's by no means common knowledge, milady, but sinceyou've known her all her life, and I know you'll not noise it abroad – nothing's been said for certain yet, but my lady's sick in the mornings, very weary, and it's plain to any woman who's seen these things and especially to me, having the care of her linen... she must be with child."

"I'm glad for her – and the Steward too," Rowanna said truthfully. "But I won't disturb her, Frideswide, if she's resting. Once I've finished eating, if you can show me to my room and have some water brought, I'll change into a clean shirt and breeches – for the dust of the road's on these from head to toe! - and then perhaps take a walk from the house."

Installed in a small and comfortable room under the eaves of the house, Rowanna gratefully stripped and washed, changed her clothes, and accepted the help of one of the maids to wash the sweat and dirt of the road from her hair. Combing it out and leaving it spread over her shoulders to dry, she lay back on the bed and gazed at the patterns of sunlight and shadow dancing on the ceiling; but a little while later admitted to herself she was too restless to spend the afternoon lying down.

Pulling her boots back on, she found her water-skin and cloak and went in search of Frideswide, from whom she begged a couple of wrinkled apples by way of rations.

"How far do you plan to go, mistress?" the housekeeper enquired. "Not that it isn't safe enough all the way from here to Henneth Annûn, with the Rangers keeping an eye, but I don't know how well you know the land hereabouts. My lord and lady generally eat a little after sundown, though Lady Éowyn may want to wait dinner tonight once I've given her your message from my lord Steward..."

"I'll be back by sundown for certain," Rowanna reassured her, "for I've no intention of getting myself lost in the dark! I can find my way by the sun and the line of the hills easily enough, I should think. I'd just like to begin getting a feel for the lie of the land, to start to talk to Faramir about where we might best think of starting his stud."

"Have you a cloak or a hood?" Frideswide asked. "It might seem too hot now, but thunder can come rolling in off the hills in no time at this season – we had a great storm and downpour last night, you'll still see the puddles here and there."

Rowanna held out her cloak for inspection.

"That's a fine one!" Frideswide admired, running her fingers over the soft grey fabric. "That never came from the Mark?"

"No, it's –" Rowanna swallowed hard – "Elven weave. It was given me, more than a year ago now, and – I've not had the heart to part with it..."

"Well, it should serve you well enough." The housekeeper smiled and swung the front door wide for her. "A fair afternoon to you, mistress."

Rowanna looked in at the stables on Gelion, who whinnied with pleasure to see her.

"No, I'm not taking you out again yet, lad," Rowanna said firmly, "for you came a good way this morning, and through the mid-day heat; you rest, and I'll go afoot!" She made him a peace-offering of one of her apples, adjusted her water-skin where it hung across her hip from its strap and then, with her cloak slung across her arm, set off across the clearing.

After a little thought, she turned to the north; _for further south is the way to the Cross-roads_ , she reflected, _and Faramir said nothing certain about the state of the land south of Emyn Arnen, though I'm sure it's safe enough. Besides, from what I remember of the journey up to Cormallen –_ she took one sharp inbreath – _the Vale of Anduin's broader and the grazing land likely to be better the further north you go._

She moved slowly through the woods, getting her bearings, noting here and there a fallen tree or a scattering of boulders to ensure she would find her way southward again. The forest, though quiet, hummed with life; birds called all about her, bees buzzed in the gorse, and the constant high-pitched sawing sound of crickets underlaid all.

_As I thought,_ she reflected as she walked, _close by Emyn Arnen itself's no good; it's still too hilly here, too many rocky outcrops, and it looks from here as though it's wooded all the way to Anduin or nearly. I wonder how far north you have to go to reach more open land? Well, from the sun there's plenty of the afternoon left; no harm in going on, for now._

She grimaced a little at the thought. _Going on... that's all I've done, for a whole year, isn't it? Twelve months since – since Arwen came south, and the wedding; and all I could do was keep going on from day to day, trying not to let Mother see that I wished the sun would never come up again, and wondering whether one day, somehow, I'd find a life to live again, and a place to live it in. I just hope I can convince Faramir that his plan is workable..._

She heard a woodpecker's repeated tapping somewhere off to her right, and a puff of dust and flash of movement showed her a lizard skittering away from beneath her boots.

_I wonder if they have woodpeckers in Mirkwood. I wonder if he is sitting in the shade of the canopy, even now..._

Her heart ached, but the treacherous thought would not be suppressed; _is he as deep in misery as I've been? I don't know which is worse – the thought that he is just as wretched, or that.. he might not be..._ She let out a shuddering breath.

_Could we have... should we have?..._ She had gone over and over the previous Mid-summer in her mind, and never found an answer. _Everything conspired against us, that day – if only we could have got away from everyone, from the crowds, from that nightmare of a banquet, and just talked, before we heard the Lay of Leithian, before doom was handed down as if from the Powers themselves. Perhaps L-Legolas was right; perhaps our song was already written, beyond our changing. I couldn't see how I could ask him to live with it; the 'binding chain of living love and mortal pain'... but are we both enduring it anyway? Well, it's too late now – he's hundreds of leagues away, and I'll never see him again._

She scrubbed angrily at her eyes; _if tears could mend anything, you would have had all put to rights long since! Keep your mind on what you're doing..._

There was no human sound other than her own feet scuffing up leaves or occasionally snapping a twig; yet somehow Rowanna became increasingly convinced that she was being watched. _If I were riding, I'd watch Gelion, and I'd know!_ she mused. _As long as his ears are forward, or he's stealing bits of leaf and twig to chew on as he walks, then there's no danger..._

Around her, though, the sounds of the woodland were untroubled; no sudden silences, no alarm-calls from birds or rustles from startled beasts. _It feels... peaceful_ , Rowanna reflected. _I'm sure someone is watching, yet the land feels no threat. So it must be one of the Rangers from Henneth Ann_ _û_ _n – perhaps more than one. Though why they don't just show themselves..._ She shrugged, bit into her remaining apple, and walked on, savouring the scents of pine and herbs in the forest air, occasionally slapping at a fly.

The shafts of sunlight dropping down through the canopy slowly turned to the deeper gold of late afternoon; it occurred to Rowanna that she might think of turning back, yet the walk was soothing her spirits, and she knew that now, at the height of summer, the sun would set late. The air grew a little cooler, and she fastened the grey Lothlórien cloak around her shoulders, where it was less trouble than carried over her arm. From time to time she paused at a clearing or a point where more than one way through the undergrowth was apparent; strangely enough, whenever she stopped, somehow there would come a flash of movement in the corner of her eye, or a slight rustle of leaves, which would draw her attention in one particular direction. She began to ask herself: _Am I being followed, in truth… or led?_

After more than an hour of this, Rowanna's never-generous patience snapped. Reaching yet another clearing, she stood still, and when something seemed to move in the trees to one side of her, she stood her ground. The Rangers generally used the Grey Tongue, she knew; so she thought for a moment to make sure she had the phrases she wanted, and said clearly to the apparently empty air:

"Very well. I am here. What do you want?"

Although she thought she had marked the spot where her silent watcher balanced in the foliage, either she was mistaken or he had moved swiftly and silently across the clearing; for she neither saw nor heard him drop to the ground, and so it was only at the sound of his voice that she whirled around, dumbstruck.

" _Mae govannen, brennilen."_

And there he stood, leaning against the trunk of a great tree with folded arms, regarding her with the familiar, quizzical raised eyebrow. Legolas.

***

For all his apparent ease, something about his posture sent her mind flying back to the very first time she had set eyes on him in Rivendell's Hall of Fire; and as the memory stirred, she realised with a jolt that he was as unnerved and as brittle as she.

For a long moment there was silence. Somewhere in the clearing a bee buzzed.

"What in Arda's name are _you_ doing here?" Rowanna eventually demanded, shakily.

"I might ask the same of you," he responded coolly. "I thought that you were returning to Rohan! To breed horses again with – Aelstan?"

"I – I changed my mind. After the War, everything was… different. And Mother decided to settle in Dol Amroth, with her cousin Pennastir and his wife Almiel, to help with their children…"

"None of which explains what you are doing in the middle of the woodland of Ithilien," Legolas pointed out, eyebrow raised again.

"I am here at the invitation of the Steward," Rowanna retorted. "He wishes to build up Gondor's breeding stock of horses again after all that was lost in the War, and we had thought of establishing a stud farm – perhaps somewhere over near Cormallen, on all that wonderful grazing land close by Anduin. He wrote and asked me to come this summer to discuss it. _You_ , I would have thought, are considerably farther from home…"

"I am a Wood-elf, and this is a forest," he said teasingly. "How could I not be at home?"

Rowanna suppressed an impulse to stamp her foot. "You still speak in riddles, at any rate! What are you doing _here_ and not back away North in the Greenwood? I thought I had heard that your father and the Lord Celeborn had taken each a part of the great forest for their domain and were undoing all of Sauron's evil there?"

"And so they are," said Legolas. "But Eryn Lasgalen, sad to say, is not the only forest in need of healing thanks to the foul works of Sauron and his creatures!" His mouth set for a moment in a grim line. "All over Ithilien from the Crossroads to the Black Gate – wherever orcs had dominion in the years before the fall of Barad-Dûr – they left poison and destruction. It will take lifetimes of Men to restore all; but I offered Faramir my aid to begin, and he accepted."

Rowanna shook her head in bewilderment. "I… I still cannot believe it! To find you, here…"

"Then come and see." For the first time since he had dropped into the clearing, the beginnings of a smile played about the corners of the Elf's mouth. "Why do you think I kept leading you northwards? You followed most attentively, I must say. When Galathil signalled that there was a Mortal woman walking alone through the woodland from the direction of Emyn Arnen, I confess I was curious; and once I realised it was you –"

He broke off abruptly.

"Will you come? Less than a league northward of here we are encamped."

"I – no, I can't – yes!" The reply was out of Rowanna's mouth before she had time to think. "Oh, but – Faramir and Éowyn's folk knew whither I went; Faramir is back in Minas Tirith for Council, and Éowyn was resting when I left, but if I am not back by dark they will start scouring the countryside for me…"

"That we can quickly enough forestall," Legolas said carelessly. "And later, we can lend you a mount, and one of the company will escort you back to Emyn Arnen." He gave a curious whistling call, and a moment later a dark-haired Elf in patched and faded brown and green, almost invisible among the trees until he moved, arrived in answer. Legolas said something swift in what Rowanna thought was the Grey Tongue, except that it was full of words she did not recognise; and the second Elf's reply, lilting and liquid, was completely incomprehensible, reminding her a little of Haldir's Lothlórien accents.

"There," said Legolas as the second Elf vanished once again into the trees. "Galathil cannot bear a message to Emyn Arnen himself, for he has no tongue in common with Men as yet; but he will pass on my order to Taurlaegel, who can be at the house well before dark and whose Grey Tongue will be perfectly comprehensible to Faramir – and to the household, who will be able to cast the message into Westron, or Rohirric for that matter, for Lady Éowyn if it should turn out that Faramir stays in the City tonight."

"I knew I couldn't make out a word of what he said!" Rowanna confessed. "So it was not just a strange accent?" Legolas shook his head.

"Not at all – there are plenty still of Father's people who choose to speak only the Silvan tongue, though most understand the Grey well enough. And those who decide to follow me here are like enough to begin to use Sindarin to talk to the folk of Ithilien – at least when they _want_ to be understood…"

He gestured, somewhat formally, inviting her to follow him, and they set off further into the woodland which covered the hillsides rising to the east.

"So… what are your plans?" Rowanna asked tentatively. "You said 'those who decide to follow you' – are you bringing a great company south?"

"Not yet, for certain. This year I have brought but a small band – some of those who served me most closely in the Greenwood or who are wisest in tree-lore, who spoke up at once when I made known what I wished to do, and asked to join me. We need to take stock, survey all the land and the harm wrought upon it, before we can even begin to plan either the healing that must be done or the bringing south of a greater folk. I promised Father that I would not – how did he put it? 'go haring off upon another wild enterprise' without due planning and forethought, this time!"

Despite her sudden nerves, Rowanna found she could not suppress a chuckle at the image of an errant Legolas thus chided; a moment later, at the expression on the Elf's face, it grew until she laughed out loud.

"A _– wild enterprise?_ " she gasped when she could speak. "You and the Fellowship saved all of Middle-earth and your father called it _haring off upon a wild enterprise_?..."

Legolas snorted. "I am glad someone else sees the funny side! The rest of Father's Council radiated disapproval when I was seen to smile at that…" He sobered. "Poor Father. My homecoming was not the unalloyed joy he had longed for, I fear. His son was hale, well, lauded as a hero of Middle-earth… and Sea-struck, torn in two between forest and shore, and wanting only to take off again for the Southlands as soon as he could persuade a few comrades to join him."

Rowanna sighed. "The War seemed to split the world in two; those folk who just want everything to be as it was before, no matter what they must close their eyes to to make it so; and those who were touched by it all too closely, and know that…nothing can ever be the same again."

"And no need to ask which half _we_ belong to," the Elf retorted, with sudden bitterness. Rowanna gulped.

"I –"

"No, forgive me. I should not have –" He broke off.

They said no more for some time, threading their way through the woodland side by side, each lost in thought.

As the sun was going down they stepped into a broad clearing where an Elf with elaborately braided hair was tending a small cooking-fire, his short bow and quiver resting against a nearby tree-trunk. Clearly word of their coming had gone before them, for he showed no surprise, merely raised a hand in greeting and called something across to Legolas in the same lilting tongue that Galathil had used.  
  
A little group of horses stood untethered at one end of the clearing, grazing in the evening light; one lifted his head and nickered as they approached, and to her delight Rowanna recognised Arod. The little grey still liked to be scratched along his neck in just the way she remembered, leaning ecstatically into her touch.  
  
"I might have known Arod would get more of your attention than any of us mere two-legged beings!" Legolas protested mock-plaintively. "There's a clean stream running down behind those rocks on the far side, if you want to refill your water-skin." Rowanna did so gratefully, taking a long draught and splashing her face. _I need_ _to make sure I am not dreaming_ , she thought, still slightly stunned. _I thought him half a world away! And_ _what in Arda's name am I doing accepting his invitation to supper – for that matter, what in all the stars is he doing asking me?..._  
  
"While Falastir is cooking, come," Legolas urged as she returned to the fireside. "Let me show you something of what we have come to do..." He courteously motioned Rowanna ahead of him down the slope, waiting patiently when she had to stop to look for her footing. _A year ago you would simply have taken my hand and hauled me through!_ thought Rowanna, sighing as she clambered across a rocky outcrop.

Placing her feet carefully, Rowanna frowned; now that they were over the rocks there was something increasingly odd about the terrain. The puddles of water which lay here and there in hollows from the previous day's rain had a strange sheen to them, and she caught traces of a harsh metallic smell. Then they came into a small clearing where the ground was pitted and filled with holes, and blackened as though it had been cleared by burning; Rowanna's boots scuffed up a cloud of ash, making her cough. When the dust cleared she saw that the trees around the lower edge of the clearing were stunted, shorter and frailer-looking than those they had passed through before, and the earth around their roots was slimy with blackened and dying plants.

"Watch your footing," Legolas urged. "All these pits have made the ground unstable, and sometimes you don't see the holes. And do not touch the earth if you can help it."

Rowanna shuddered. "What happened here?"

"This," said Legolas grimly, "is but a small example of how Mordor treated Yavanna's good green earth. Digging for metals; you see all the pits? – there is iron and copper in these hills, which they wanted in endless supply to forge their weapons. But if you mine and smelt and take no care to clear away the spoil, then poison leaches back into the ground with the rain, sun-round after sun-round, and flows into the streams and the rivers, and is carried downstream for miles. See what it has done to the earth below the clearing?" He hunkered down, Rowanna crouching beside him, and used a stick to turn over the slimy, blackened leaves. "Leaves and plants thus poisoned do not rot down as they should, to feed the soil – look, there are no earthworms, no burrowing creatures. The earth dies."

He went to take her hand to lift her to her feet, then checked himself and instead carefully stepped back to allow her to rise.

"And this is but the very edge of it, too close to Osgiliath for the Orcs to have been here for long or till recently. Can you imagine –" his voice shook a little – "what the land looks like further from Minas Tirith's writ? As you draw close to Mordor itself? Watercourses running foul, black heaps of slag everywhere, trees all hacked down for their charcoal or simply because Mordor cannot bear a living green thing where it could have ugliness and death…" He looked away, fighting for control.

"I knew it was terrible," Rowanna said softly. "I remember how much pain it caused you on the ride to the Black Gate. But now that you are here… what can be done?"

"To begin with," the Elf replied as he led the way back towards the camp, "we go to and fro all across Ithilien, marking for the Steward every damaged site, all the poisoned ground. We make sure all know which streams they should not drink from, which berries not to harvest, where not to graze animals. And then –" he lifted a thorny branch aside to let her pass – "we go to work! On the way back northward last summer I went to Fangorn, and not only – despite his misgivings – to discomfit Gimli. I talked long with Treebeard, who along with his Ents has much of the same work to do around Isengard, and whose forest wisdom stretches back even before the Firstborn walked Middle-earth. Where we must, we will dig out poisoned soil and take it away – into Mordor, if there is any justice! If we can divert streams, we can wash some of the poison down into pools we line with stone, and filter it out with reedbeds. And Treebeard knows of many plants which can safely draw the poison from the soil without harm to themselves – mustard, pigweed, alpine pennycress, some of which will grow well on Ithilien's slopes. Over a lifetime of Men, we can make the earth clean again. And where we have clean earth – we will replant the trees!"

He stopped to draw breath, and Rowanna could not help smiling at the passion in his voice. "A lifetime of Men indeed! But time, fortunately, Elves are not short of. You will see Ithilien fair again."

"I will set my people on the way, at least," he replied, his tone suddenly less sure. "Whether I will hold out long enough to see it done…"

"The Sea?" Cold dread descended on Rowanna like a sudden mist. "Is its pull truly so strong?"

"It ebbs and flows," Legolas said with a sigh. "Father hoped that back in the Greenwood, hundreds of leagues from any shore, in the forest of my childhood, it would be so faint that I could ignore it; but it would come suddenly from nowhere, and then the pain of knowing I could not reach the Sea, even in a moon-round's journey, was unbearable. I thought that here, close to great Anduin which winds to the ocean, I would be more resigned, knowing that if it became too great I need only step onto a boat… but sometimes that just makes it harder to resist. For days, weeks at a time there is no more than a whisper, and I almost forget it. But when the wind is from the south-west, sometimes, and comes bearing the tang of the salt and driving the gulls before the storm… it is very bad indeed." Rowanna heard the strain in his voice; she had to check the impulse to pull him into her arms, and flushed to the roots of her hair.

"We must be nearly back," she said hastily to cover her confusion, "I can smell something cooking! – fish?..."

Legolas, too, had composed himself and was carefully courteous once again. "Trout, I imagine; they seem to be plentiful around here. Fear not, Galathil knows how to choose a clean stream to fish from, and we will feed you well!"

He led her back into the clearing in the twilight, and the other Elves, looking with open curiosity at Rowanna, readily made room for them around the fire.

******

**Author's Notes:**

The idea that after the War Faramir might use a barge to make crossings of the Anduin in a more direct line from Minas Tirith to Emyn Arnen, rather than riding ten miles out of the way northwards to the bridge at Osgiliath and then south again, is the fruit of a question I asked on the H-A mailing list about the likelihood of extra bridges.

_Mae govannen, brennilen –_ Well met, my lady.

The use of certain plants to leach heavy metals and other mining and smelting contaminants from the soil is a genuine process known as phytoextraction (thank you, [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phytoextraction)...)


	47. Beneath the Sky Shall Be Our Bed

As Legolas had promised, the trout grilled over the fire was excellent, and Rowanna ate hungrily, managing to talk a little with the other Elves through a mixture of Sindarin and sign-language. The initially very reserved Galathil smiled cautiously when she thanked him, through Legolas, for catching the fish, and was most amused at her attempts to pronounce the Nandorin word, which seemed to involve a strange sound in the back of the throat which Rowanna could not master at all.

Dinner done, they sat for a while watching the stars coming out, the Elves occasionally murmuring together. Eventually Legolas got to his feet.

"Walk with me?" he asked simply.

"Gladly."

Legolas said something swift and lilting to his company around the fire, then turned and led Rowanna out of the clearing, deeper into the woods. The night was warm, the sky a clear blue velvet, shading into pale green towards the West where the sun had but lately set. Rowanna breathed deeply.

"It is good, the air of Ithilien, is it not?" said the Elf politely.

"It's such a relief just to be out of the City!" Rowanna exclaimed. "I was only there for a couple of nights after I rode up from Dol Amroth - I wasn't supposed to come out to Emyn Arnen so soon, but Minas Tirith in high summer is unbearable! It's so hot, even at night it stifles, and the walls hold the heat - I'm not surprised Éowyn is out here."

"Faramir told me last year he thought she would prefer Emyn Arnen to the City," Legolas agreed, "and I cannot disagree with either of them. All that weight of stone..."

"It feels like a great wave that's about to topple over and crush you beneath it, doesn't it?"

"That's it exactly," he agreed. "It makes my head spin! I remember, last summer –"

He broke off.

"Dol Amroth's much cooler," Rowanna said wistfully after a moment, "and somehow that fresher air affects its people too -no-one is as _stuffy_ there as in Minas Tirith, not even cousin Ithildîs. No wonder Mother prefers it – she says she may winter in the White City when Almiel's boys are older, but I think it will be Dol Amroth for the rest of the year!"

"Your mother always seemed a wise woman," Legolas agreed. "Fares she well?"

They wandered along through clearings and between the trees, talking with careful courtesy of their kith and kin both in Gondor and the North.

"Arwen enjoyed Dol Amroth," Rowanna mused; "she and Aragorn went on a royal progress of sorts, early in the year, to show her the realm and to let all Gondor meet its new Queen. And its King too - Aragorn did admit that galloping for dear life across Lebennin with the Armies of the Dead in his wake had not been the best way to appreciate the finer points of his southern coastlands..."

Legolas gave a delighted ripple of laughter. "That it was not!"

"Arwen and I had a long talk, on that visit," Rowanna went on thoughtfully, "– we spent a whole afternoon, while Aragorn was discussing harbour levies with Prince Imrahil, sitting in one of my favourite spots overlooking the sea. It was just after Faramir and Éowyn's marriage, and Arwen thought it would not be long before Éowyn was with child. As ever her foresight was good..."

"Is it so?" Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"So Éowyn's housekeeper says – hence she is so weary and sick just now. But she is not three moons gone, so that's not to be noised abroad..."

"Not a word," Legolas promised.

"Arwen told me something else I never knew, while we spoke of child-bearing," Rowanna began, ducking her head clear of a low-hanging branch as they walked on – then broke off in confusion, blushing. The Elf looked at her curiously.

"Go on..."

"No, it doesn't matter..."

"It does. I want to know." His voice was unexpectedly cool. Rowanna took a deep breath.

"That... that for Elves to conceive a child, unlike Men, is a matter of conscious will - that love does not beget unless both the lovers choose it so." She paused for a moment as they picked their way around a mossy, fallen treetrunk. "You know, that was one of the things I could not see a way past, last Midsummer... that I might bear a child who would grow old and die in a blink of its father's eye, or else lose its mother when it was barely grown to adulthood. I never knew _you_ could choose for it not to happen at all!"

"You never asked me!" Legolas cried.

"When would I have had the chance?" Rowanna flung back. "You never wanted to look beyond the day!..."

"I – all right, I hold my hands up to that, for Elrohir taxed me with much the same," Legolas admitted. "That I had taken no thought for the future; and that I could not give you children, for they must have either the life of Eldar or of Men, and either way grief must lie..."

Rowanna snorted. "It clearly never occurred to either of you to ask me _my_ view on the matter!"

"Which would have been?..." Legolas let the question hang in the air.

"That as any of the baffled womenfolk of the Eastfold could tell you, I was always far more interested in foals than in babies," she retorted. "And that I would choose one Elf over any number of prospective squalling brats!"

There was a long pause. Somewhere ahead of them an owl hooted, and a moment later its mate called in answer.

"If we cut up the slope just here," said Legolas eventually, in carefully even tones, "there's another of those outcrops of rocks; we can look out over the valley..."

They picked their way between sage and gorse bushes, clambered over the rocks and looked, as the Elf had predicted, across hills and woods bathed now in silver as the moon rose above the trees. Rowanna had plucked a sprig of wild mint as they climbed and was nibbling absently at it.

"What other objections did Elrohir come up with," she enquired at length, "to leave you so convinced that a life with you could bring me nothing but unhappiness?"

Legolas was gazing out across the valley, still as stone.

"That I could not marry you, for there were no vows either in the customs of Firstborn or Aftercomers that I could keep; that as Béodred had said, I could offer you neither hearth nor home nor even promise to be yours lifelong –"

" _Béodred?_ " Rowanna gaped. "You all seem to have decided on my future happiness or otherwise without any reference to me whatever! Legolas, you had known me by then nearly as long as Elrohir, and better – when has settling down around a hearth to be a dutiful wife and mother ever been something I wanted? And did it not occur to you that Béodred and, for that matter, Elrohir too might have had somewhat _clouded_ judgement in any case?" She bit off a large piece of mint and stared at him in challenge.

"I accused Elrohir of as much point blank," Legolas grimaced. "At which point he threatened to run me through – no, wait, that was later –"

"If I ever set eyes on him again, I'll return the favour," Rowanna muttered.

"And it _did_ trouble you when others looked at us askance," the Elf protested. "The Rohirrim, for instance –"

"Not because I cared a mare's tail for what they _thought_ ," cried Rowanna in exasperation. "Only because their stares said 'What are you about?' and I wasn't sure I knew the answer..."

The owls hooted once more. Over their heads, bats whirled and dived.

"So now _you_ tell _me_ ," Legolas challenged in his turn, "what or who made you so certain that since we could not be Beren and Lúthien, your best course was –" his voice cracked – "to flee Minas Tirith and avoid ever seeing me again?"

" _You_ fled too," Rowanna shot back. "You left me in the garden of the Houses that night –"

"You sent me away, and had I known you were going to take flight before the morning, I might not have gone!" Legolas pointed out bitterly. "Stop changing the subject. I asked you a question."

Rowanna sighed. "It all began on that long ride to Edoras, really. We hadn't parted on the Pelennor as I would have wanted –"

"That was my fault," the Elf admitted. "I'd had Béodred ready to knock me down the previous night for ruining your good name –"

"Your hand!" Rowanna exclaimed. "You never did tell me –"

"– Never mind my hand, by tree and leaf!" Legolas exploded. " _Tell_ me."

"… then talking with Elladan and Elrohir, and later to Arwen, about her cleaving to Aragorn and giving up immortal life; she was so adamant that the alternative would be intolerable, that she could not bear the thought of living on through all the Ages of Arda when Aragorn was gone beyond the Circles of the World without her. I didn't know whether, if you were bound to me, you'd be able to love again, to heal your heart in Aman…"

"So when you wondered if I would forget you –" the Elf gasped –

"I was hoping that you _would!_ " Rowanna cried. "Or at least, that you would not be bound forever to the memory of something that had lasted barely a season in your eyes; that if you found another, you would be able to love again. What if the pain of breaking that bond, when death took me from you, was unendurable? I couldn't ask that of you…"

"I wish you _had_ ," the Elf hurled back at her. "And what if I left you first? You've seen the Sea-longing upon me, you know what it can mean! Who knows when the day will come that I can no longer stop my ears to it?"

"Then it seems to me we would be running even risks," Rowanna spat. "Mortals are used to the loss of those they love, you know – unlike Elves most of us manage not to fade away with grief!"

"Arwen said something like that, when first I came South again in the spring, and I could not say... how long I would stay," Legolas said wonderingly. "That an Elf who knew the Sea's call could understand, a little, how Men live with the ever-present possibility of receiving their Gift."

"Why, oh why did we not _say_ all this last Midsummer?" cried Rowanna. "A year, Legolas – a whole year! It may be nothing to an Elf, but – do you know how long it seems, for a mortal, to spend every season, every month, every _day_ of a year with your heart aching and broken and unable to see any way you can ever be happy again? Have you any _idea?_..." She pounded her fist furiously on the rocks beside her, then winced. "Oww – _damn_..."

"Are you hurt?" Legolas enquired urgently. Rowanna sucked at her knuckles.

"Only by my own folly. Which is beginning to look like a familiar pattern..."

"Yours and mine," the Elf said ruefully. "And I was going to say that... yes, perhaps I do have some idea, now. As you said before... since the War, nothing has been the same, and will not ever be again."

He had plucked a grass-stem from between the rocks, and was turning it to and fro in his fingers, gazing up at the starlit sky. "While you were gone to Rohan with the sons of Elrond, one day I met a fisherman on the banks of Anduin. He'd lost his wife three years before, and talked of how the pain had changed – not vanished, never that, but become a dull constant ache that he could go on living with. I do not think I would ever forget, but… they say that there is no pain nor loss that Aman cannot make bearable. The fisherman said something else, too; I'm told a commonplace saying of Men, though it is not something the Firstborn would recognise."

His gaze came down from the stars to Rowanna. "He said: 'tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all…"

Rowanna swallowed hard.

"I'm... furious, still; with you, with myself, with the Powers if they have anything to do with the whole blasted mess. But – I can't lie, Legolas, not to you; your fisherman was right."

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then suddenly Legolas looked keenly at something across the clearing below them.

"I need to show you something."

"What – now? In the dark?"

"Yes, now. Come," he insisted urgently. He was already on his feet, with such an intent look on his face that she followed without question.

The glade below the rocks was lush with longer grass than most of the surrounding woodland; Rowanna felt it whisper against her boots and saw the dew sparkle. Across the clearing Legolas pointed upwards.

"Look. Look at the tree. Do you see what it is?..."

It was a great dark mass, its elegant shape just discernible against the sky. Legolas gently plucked a leaf, showing her its blue-black colour.

"The _brethilgaer_. I found out its name in Westron, in the end – the copper beech. I told you, once in Imladris, that this was your tree – its leaves the perfect match for your hair. And I said – do you remember?..."

" _If you ever find one in your homeland, you will know; there is your dwelling-place, and there your heart will find rest._ " Rowanna took a deep, shaky breath.

"Legolas... all my life I've been sure it was for me to find my own path, to shape my own fate. I learnt that from Mother, I think; she was never one to do what was expected of her or to believe that her life was foreordained. And I was very impatient of anyone – particularly when I first met with Elves! – who suggested that they might foresee my future, or that the Powers might have anything to do with it. And then it seemed that fate, or the Powers, had taken you from me, and I was so bitter and angry and miserable that I swore I'd trust them even less than before. But after the War – I chose, and chose, and all my choices seemed to go amiss. The Riddermark no longer felt like home, because nothing there was different, and yet for me everything had changed. Dol Amroth is too full of men serving the Swan Knights to have any place for a woman who wants to train horses. I even thought of going north to Arnor. And yet, in the end – purely by chance, I thought, because Faramir asked me – I am here; and so are you, and... it turns out there are things we should each have had the courage to say long ago."

"And I always believed," he said slowly, "that because I could hear the Music of the Ainur all around me, shaping my life, my part was written out in full even though it was hidden from me; that I had no power to choose one path over another, even when that took me from you, when I would have given anything in the world to find a way to stay. And yet…any musician worth his salt may improvise upon his own theme, and a Ranger – or an Elf – find many paths to the same destination, may he not? I may not know or have the choosing of what days remain to me in Middle-earth, but can I not at least decide how they are spent?" His voice was husky, uncertain, and she could not read his expression in the summer night.

"Legolas…" Rowanna breathed.

He moved a step closer, reaching out a hand hesitantly half-way towards her. "As everyone seems to have told both of us, I cannot offer you hearth, nor home, nor kingdom, nor marriage-vows; nothing, for whatever time is given us, but myself. And that I willingly give you, a thousand times over. Rowanna, will… will you stay? I don't just mean stay in Ithilien to breed Faramir's horses, but…stay with me?¨

For a long moment neither of them seemed to breathe; Rowanna felt as though they were handling some incredibly delicate thing, eggshell or gossamer, which one wrong move would shatter irrevocably.

¨Tell me one thing...¨ she murmured at last.

"What is it?"

"If – if the Sea grew too strong for you at last, and you could resist the Call no longer…" She bit her lip. "Would you leave without saying goodbye?"

"Never." His eyes were locked with hers, holding nothing back. "Never, never, never."

"But – if you were far from me? What if, I don't know, you were in the White City, or I was gone to the Mark to look at horses for Faramir, and you heard the gulls cry, and you could not hold on...?"

"Then I would go as far as I must, " said Legolas firmly, "and send word to you, and wait – on the very shore of the ocean if need be, with the sound of the surf in my ears – till you came. However long that was. I promise it, _melethen_."

The moonlight had fallen full on his face, and suddenly his blue-grey eyes were enormous in the darkness. And his expression was unreadable no longer, but bright and clear as the night and full of a longing so intense that she felt a tight answering pain in her own chest and for a moment could not breathe. When she found she could speak, she said very softly:

"I will stay, Legolas. For as long as we both walk beneath sun and stars in Middle-earth; until the Powers deem it time that death or the Sea part us, I will stay…"

Legolas took one more step, and now they were so close that she could have reached out and touched him; and yet she did not move. Her skin was suddenly tingling, as though she had stroked a cat's fur the wrong way. For a moment she wondered at the strange, high-pitched sound she could hear, and then realised it was her own blood singing in her ears. Legolas stood before her in the velvet summer night, and as the moonlight glinted on hair and skin and smile he was so fair to look at that it hurt her; in that long, long moment she knew she could have been content never to move again.

Finally it was the Elf who stirred; lifting his hand again he brought it slowly up to her face, and began to trail the tips of those long, elegant fingers down temple and cheek and jawline. Rowanna closed her eyes and gasped one choking breath as his fingertips brushed, delicately as leaf-fall, down the long curve of her neck until his palm came to cup the base of her throat. He must have felt her blood thudding wildly beneath his hand; for he made a soft, startled noise, and she forced her eyes open to find him gazing into her face in wonderment.

"Rowanna…"

For an instant her legs almost gave way beneath her, and she found herself clutching at Legolas; quickly he slid his other hand behind her head, and she put her arms around him and pulled him close, marvelling at the supple strength in his slim form, burrowing beneath the leather of his jerkin to feel the muscles of his back move beneath her exploring hands. He heaved a great ragged sigh into her neck.

"Rowanna… _ai_ , _melethen_. I thought – you were gone from me forever…"

She felt a shiver run through him; and then, slowly, hesitant as a wild creature coming cautiously to feed from her hand, his lips were on her throat, following the vein up beneath her jaw, barely brushing the corner of her mouth before slipping away towards cheek and ear. Impatient, Rowanna reached behind his head and turned him back, finding his mouth and kissing him greedily; the very taste of him seemed all clear water and sunlight and new green leaves, filling her with the warm delight of a first, unexpected day of spring after endless winter. She revelled in him. She felt him chuckle against her mouth.

" _Madithach nin, melethen?"_

For answer she kissed him again, more insistently, until she gasped for breath and broke off, laughing, to feast her gaze on his face again. "I have you back! Oh, Legolas…" His eyes had grown huge and dark, yet the stars still danced in them as he smiled at her.

"Hungry one. Are all mortal women so hasty? The stars are out, the air is warm, and we have all the night before us…"

" _This_... mortal... woman," murmured Rowanna, punctuating the words with kisses planted up his jawline, "has been dreaming of you for a year and more, thinking the chance to do this was gone forever... and does not intend to delay any longer." Arriving at his ear, she licked at his earlobe, and the Elf drew a sharp inbreath.

"Then far be it from me to keep you waiting, my lady," he whispered as he drew her down beside him, throwing down his green cloak over the mossy ground below the great copper beech.

" _This_ has to come off," murmured Rowanna, pushing Legolas' heavy leather jerkin back off his shoulders and letting him shrug out of it. "And as for this..." She ran her fingers appreciatively over the soft green fabric of his shirt. "Silk! Fit for a prince indeed..."

"'Tis the most practical of stuff," he protested laughing. "Warm or cool according to your need; does not chafe under pack or quiver..."

"And _very_ pleasant to the touch," she pointed out, stroking down the silk from his collarbones across his chest to the hard muscle of his stomach.

"There... is that," he agreed somewhat hoarsely as she pulled the shirt up and over his head. His normally deft fingers caught a little as he began to work loose the lacings of her shirt in its turn, moving closer to kiss her again as he did so. "Ah – I thought so!" His questing hands had found the soft cloth with which she habitually bound her chest for comfort while riding.

"Thought what?" Her breath came harder as he unwound the wrapper steadily and slid it out from beneath her shirt.

"That you'd never wear boning or corsetry if you could help it. All the better..." As his thumbs brushed across her breasts she gasped, feeling the longing within her coalesce into one aching centre; unable to bear it, she pulled him in again and kissed him harder, sliding one hand as she did so down to the lacings of his leggings. It was Legolas' turn to gasp; he kicked his boots off and reached to pull Rowanna's off her in their turn.

Moments later, nothing was left but the breeze and the moonlight on their skin. Gazing at him Rowanna felt a shiver of apprehension run through her.

"How – do Elves – do this?"

"I cannot tell you," Legolas said mock-solemnly, "for I know nothing of how Mortals do, to compare. Shall we find out?..."

As they kissed once more she felt his welter of emotions washing into her; delight, desire, anticipation – yes, that little flicker of nerves behind all just as she felt it herself; _how will it be –_ and then he was there, everywhere, her Legolas, around her and within her, she felt him, _knew_ him, in her mind and her body and her heart; she remembered the very first time she had galloped towards a jump, the steadily rising rhythm, her whole body gathering for it, closer and closer and closer –

At the very brink, somehow, he paused for an instant, lifted on his forearms above her, and time stood still as wordlessly he asked her:

_Now?..._

_Yes,_ she answered him _, yes, yes!_ and the stars burst overhead as they went over the edge, falling down, down together into a world entirely new.

***

When next she knew anything they had come to rest beneath the sheltering boughs of the _brethilgaer_ , the warmth of the summer night-breeze whispering through its blue-black leaves, his head on her breast. He sighed heavily against her skin and shifted a little.

"No – don't move..." She hugged him closer. "You feel good, there." Without getting up he reached behind him and scooped up her grey Lórien cloak, shaking it out to cover them both.

"Strange," he said softly.

"Mmmm?" She stroked the silken fall of his hair back from his face.

"Last Midsummer, in Minas Tirith – when I so desperately needed words to try to explain, to tell you, I couldn't find any of the ones I wanted. And now I know exactly what to say..."

"You don't need any of them. I know." Wrapped around him, skin to skin, she could feel his heart as though it beat within her own body; in a way, she knew, it did now. He shifted back onto an elbow so that he could look her in the face.

"But let me speak them anyway, since at last I have them. _Melethen_ , I love you. I know little and care less whether Man or Elf would know what I mean by love, in the Grey Tongue or the Common or the Ancient, or what the laws and customs of the Eldar would say of it; because I know, and _you_ know. I love you; _faer_ and _rhaw_ I am yours, and you mine, and we are woven together so close and so intricately now that no-one will ever know where my heart ends and yours begins, and nothing but death or the Sea will rend that interweaving."

"And that –" The thought tore at her, inside.

"Might hurt more than either of us has ever known. But you are strong, _melethen_ , and so am I, and whichever of us is left will bear it gladly for the other's sake." She nodded. "And I am not sorry."

"Nor I!" Unexpectedly, Rowanna found tears springing to her eyes; Legolas kissed them away, but he was smiling.

"That's good!" He lay back once more and drew her close into the crook of his arm, covering her carefully with the cloak. "We're sheltered enough here, and we're not so far from camp that I won't hear if whoever is on watch signals an alarm. Sleep now, beloved, my own heart, and let me guard your dreams." Listening to the slow, steady beat as her head rested on his chest, she felt her eyelids closing, and drifted into blissful oblivion.

Some hours later, with the moon high overhead, she woke to find Legolas, propped on one elbow, gazing at her.

"You're _not_ a dream..." she said sleepily, feeling his delight washing over her. "I love you..."

For answer he leant over and kissed her, deeply and slowly.

" _Now_ I shall show you," he whispered, his breath on her skin making her shiver, "how Elves do this."

It was very, very slow, and graceful as a dance, and played so perfectly on her every nerve-ending that Rowanna was not sure whether she would melt, or shatter into a thousand pieces.

***

Slowly, she drifted out of a hazy golden dream, becoming aware of cascades of birdsong all around her, the rustling of the beech-leaves. As she shifted, she realised Legolas was no longer beside her. For an instant, still half-awake, the absence stabbed at her; then, as awareness dawned, she felt a surge of his pure happiness, joy in the morning, in the very turning of the world. Her heart swelled in her chestas he turned to face her from the rocky outcrop above where he was sitting, barefoot in his leggings, watching the sunrise.

" _Aur maer, melethen._ "

She began pulling her shirt over her head, even as he jumped down from the rocks and ran to her.

"Does every sunrise feel like that, for you?" she asked wonderingly. Legolas chuckled as he pulled his own shirt and boots on.

"How can it not be a joy, to see Anor bathe the world once more? You see, _melethen_ – now you begin to see the world through my eyes, and I through yours." As she finished dressing, he leaned in to kiss her. "And what I see just now is a woman in need of breakfast! Come –" he shrugged into his jerkin and reached for her hand – "let us see what Taurlaegel and the others can provide. And then perhaps Emyn Arnen's new Mistress of Horse should call upon the Steward?"

****

The Prince of Ithilien hummed contentedly as he spread cherry preserve on a third slice of bread. Morning sunlight slanted from a clear blue sky across the bright room where breakfast was laid: he could smell the rich scent of the coffee which had been a wedding-present from the Dwarves of Erebor; and having done his duty at Council yestereve, today was all his own. He had not got back to the low white stone house in Emyn Arnen till well into the evening, and he and Éowyn had both slept late. Now he smiled across the table at his wife, who was cautiously peeling an apple.

"Feeling any better, my love?"

Éowyn nodded. "Frideswide is right - staying in bed until I've had a bit of dry bread is much better. And that strange drink did help – what did you say it was?"

"Ginger tea." The Steward decided the coffee was sufficiently brewed, and poured a cup. "The Queen knew of it as a remedy for sickness, and by chance Aragorn had been sent some ginger root as a gift from the new Haradri ambassador..."

Éowyn looked anxious. "Faramir, people do not –"

"The King and Queen only," he reassured her, "and they have promised not to breathe a word without your leave." Taking a long pull at his coffee he added, "I wonder what has become of Rowanna. She's safe enough with the Elves, of course, but –"

He broke off as a clattering of hooves came from the yard outside, and the housekeeper appeared.

"Prince Legolas presents his compliments, my lady, my lord. He has returned your guest safe and sound, and wonders whether he might beg a cup of the excellent coffee he can smell through the window."

"That sounds a more than fair exchange!" Faramir agreed, laughing. "Please, show them in."

A moment later Legolas and Rowanna came through the door, their eyes shining, hand in hand.

***

"Look at them," the Steward murmured to his wife some time later, as they reclined on a rug on the grass, Éowyn leaning against her husband. Legolas and Rowanna wandered under the trees, arms wrapped tightly about each other's waists, the dark head and the fair pressed close together. "Some would say the most unlikely pair in Middle-earth, and I certainly had no idea! – an Elf-prince and a mortal woman – and yet you can see they are two halves of the same whole..."

" _Some_ might have found the pairing of the Steward of Gondor with a shield-maiden of Rohan almost as unlikely," Éowyn pointed out, resting one hand thoughtfully on her stomach, "and you seem to be finding that satisfactory enough."

"Eminently so," her husband agreed lazily. "Did I tell you, by the way, that when I spoke to Legolas of our desire to make a garden here he offered to plant it for us?"

Éowyn grinned. "That's a relief! I would be sure to kill everything in short order; Legolas' hand with growing things will be much surer than mine!"

"All well?" Faramir enquired, as his guests came back across the grass.

"Very well," Rowanna assured him, radiant. "Everything is very, very well indeed!"

*******

**Author's Notes:**

_Madithach nin, melethen?_ – Are you going to eat me, beloved?

_Aur maer_ \- Good morning.

No - not quite the end, not yet...


	48. Epilogue: Our Days Are Ending

_Fourth Age 120, March, Ithilien_

The wind was restless in Ithilien that day.

It thrashed in great gusts through the branches of the trees, tossing them about in violent flurries. Rowanna leaned from her window and watched the sullen clouds driven fast and high across the sky. A south-west wind, such as often came when Stirring was about to turn to Spring. A wind from the Sea.

She shivered, drawing the folds of her shawl more closely about her, though in truth it was not the wind which made her cold. _Old bones,_ she told herself impatiently, _they don't hold their warmth as well as they used to_. Yet when a high, keening cry cut its way through the soughing of the trees, and she quickly looked far into the sky to find the small white shape which wheeled and dived down the curve of the air, she could not tear her eyes away.

_They rarely fly so far inland! It must be rough out on the ocean, today, for them to be blown so far up the Anduin and across to us. All the way from the White City and beyond..._

At that thought, chill dread settled in the pit of her stomach, and would not be suppressed. Leaning more heavily on the window-frame, she craned to see further between the trees, turning into the full force of the wind to see the way he would come. Twenty years before, she would have climbed without a thought up one of the rope-ladders to a high flet, to look out over the tree-tops; but she was resigned, these days, to remaining earth-bound.

How long had he been gone, now? Long enough to spend a week or more in the White City, and return; but she had no way of knowing how long he would stay. The messenger from the Queen had told him that Gimli, too, was summoned to Minas Tirith. Even when all was over, doubtless they would want to sit and talk long together, remembering. Perhaps he would bring Gimli back to Ithilien with him for a while. She smiled, cheered at the thought of the Dwarf once more a reluctant piece of baggage on an Elf's horse. None had been more surprised than she at the firm friendship that the War of the Ring had forged between that most unlikely pair; _a fine one you are to talk of improbable pairings,_ she mocked herself. _But I remember in what mistrust and animosity it all began! I wish I could have seen his face when Master Elrond told him that if he wished to be numbered among the Company, he must consent to walk with a Dwarf!..._

_He will come soon,_ she insisted. She tried to ignore the insidious voice which whispered, in the back of her mind; _but the wind is from the Sea, and the gulls are crying. What if he never comes at all?..._

_Find something to do_ , she told herself firmly. There was never any lack of tasks around the stud farm which had been her charge for so many years, first from Faramir and now from Elboron; even now that mucking out for hours was beyond her, she still supervised grooming, and watched over foalings, and trained colts although it must be left to the youngsters to gallop them across the meadows. It had to be said, though, that these days the stables were in such good hands that she sometimes suspected the stable-master and the grooms were merely indulging her. She chuckled wryly at the memory of the conversation she'd overheard, a few days earlier, between her head groom Halvant and his newest lad:

"Does the old lady have to breathe down our necks all the time?"

That had earnt him a cuff round the ear; Rowanna had heard him yelp, though not hard.

"Mistress Rowanna's birthed and trained and mounted more beasts than you'll have hot dinners your whole life, you cheeky whelp. She may not ride over fences any more, but you wait till you first have a tricky foaling or a horse with colic, and aren't sure what to do, and see how grateful you'll be for her craft then! If you can pull your weight as she does when you're more than a century old, then I give you leave to be pleased with yourself. Now get on and finish strawing down, and no more of your lip – and whatever you do, don't make smart remarks like that in front of Legolas the Elf-lord, or you'll learn what an Elven tongue-lashing is!"

She threw a cloak over her shoulders, and went slowly out to look over the mares due to foal later in the spring and make sure they were getting enough meal. Sure enough, everything had been taken care of. _I've trained the men – and a few lasses! – as well as the horses for so many years; they can do it all on their own now._

Oddly enough, the thought did not hurt; rather, it comforted her. _I've lived long, and worked hard, and had all the reward I could have asked._ She leaned on a gate, chewing on a grass-stem, gazing over the house and the stables and out to the fields where her herds grazed contentedly. _I've done all I need to do. And had Legolas with me, all this time._ The wind whipped at the edge of her cloak, and she shivered. _Come soon, my love..._

It was out of the deep gold of the setting sun that Elf and Dwarf rode into the clearing where the long, low stone house stood, and found Rowanna, leaning a little on the doorpost for support, waiting to greet them. They did not have to speak a word; even before they drew close enough for her to see their faces, something in their approach spoke of more than weariness, and she knew what tidings they bore from Minas Tirith. Legolas dismounted, helped Gimli down from Arochril's back, and handed the horse over to one of the grooms, all as though sleepwalking. Finally, he came to stand before her, and she saw that he was drawn tight around his misery lest it break forth and shatter him. He did not speak. Gently, she broke the silence for him.

"He has passed?..."

"Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor and Arnor, has passed." And then the deliberately formal words could hold the grief at bay no longer, and he walked into her fierce embrace, leant on her shoulder, and wept.

***

Much later that night – after a dinner with Gimli at which they had all three drunk and talked and remembered until the household had given up on them and gone to bed – they lay side by side in their own chamber, listening to the wind still rushing against the house and howling in the trees. His head was on her shoulder, her arms locked tightly about him, and they lay quiet, with little need of speech, closer than thought.

"How does Arwen truly fare?"

"Ill," he said softly, grimacing. "I sat with her many hours, and did what I could, and Eldarion is a rock to her even in his own grief. Yet I think, despite all the years of knowing it must come, she never truly understood what it would mean – until now." She heard his voice crack a little on the words.

"I should have gone to her!" Rowanna cried, feeling a great ache swell in her chest at the thought of her old friend so bereft. "If I had been with you..."

" _Melethen,_ you know it could not be. Such a long ride, in such haste..." She sighed, admitting the truth of it. It was years now since she had galloped at full stretch. _I could almost be back in Rivendell, gingerly walking out the quietest mare in the stables! But then I was healing, my strength waxing, whereas now it only wanes..._

"Arwen is fading," Legolas murmured sadly, breaking into her thoughts. "I do not think she is long for this world. I would fain have stayed, but – she sent us away..."

She could find no words; but her arms tightened reflexively about him, and he turned more comfortably into the warmth of her embrace. A little later, she said softly into his hair;

"I was not sure you would come back, this time."

He stirred against her, and sat up abruptly. Icy fingers clutched her heart as she realised he had turned very pale. Not the silver glimmer which was so familiar in the darkness, as if he carried his own starlight within him; but a transparent pallor as though she could almost see through him at the edges. She whispered,

"This morning – on the wind – I heard a gull cry..."

"They were blown up the Anduin by the storms out at sea," he agreed dully, and she heard ragged strain in his tone at the memory. "Every day, as we waited on the walls for Arwen's word to go in to him, they wheeled and cried over the city, endlessly. Never any rest... I began to think I could hear the Sea itself, at first a distant whisper, then always louder until it roared in my ears. I thought I should go mad. Several times Gimli had to drag me inside."

"I knew... as soon as I saw you, I felt sure it was more than the grief for Aragorn. You were drawn so taut I thought you might snap...."

"If I let my guard down for a moment, in the White City, it began to draw me. I could not rest, could not dream. Only when I was with Aragorn, or thinking of you and Ithilien, could I silence it." He smiled shakily at her. "I was never more glad to leave the City and return to the trees! Here there is some peace..."

Taking his hands, she found them chill. Stroking them gently to warm them, she murmured,

"The call grows ever stronger, my dearest. Are... are you sure you wish to go on resisting it?"

His head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. "You mean...?"

"Go West. Go to the Havens, and sail. Go at last to Valinor."

She watched the reactions warring in his face, and she knew, finally, that it was time. For between the pain and the desire, she felt his momentary surge of relief.

"Three thousand sun-rounds and more I have trod the soil of Middle-earth," he said heavily, "her turning seasons in my blood, her _levain_ and _galas_ my delight. I came close to giving my life up for her before the gates of Mordor. Never had I thought my heart could dwell elsewhere. Until I heard the cry of the gulls before Pelargir... and even then, _rohiril_ , Middle-earth drew me back, for I had found my lodestone." He drew her to him again and buried his face in her shoulder, breathing deeply her aromas of woodsmoke and earth. _Iron grey her hair is now, like one of the rocks Gimli is so fond of. And it would still seem thick, to one who had not run his hands through it_ _for a century and more,_ _and felt it slowly thinning._ "But now..."

"When first I came to Ithilien, " she said softly against his cheek, "I thought every night that in the morning you might be gone. I had seen the Sea's pull so strong upon you, those first days after the War; every day that I awoke and found you still beside me was a gift. But these last years, I was beginning to think you might outlast me..."

He stroked her back, feeling the knotting of the aging muscles, the stiffening of her spine. _I felt as though she would never age, for we were happy, and we made Ithilien beautiful, and I loved her. But Arwen loved Aragorn, as utterly_ _as Lúthien loved Beren; and Aragorn knew that his time had come, and he is dead. And I came back from the White City, and suddenly she is old. I would not leave her! Elbereth, grant me to endure a little longer..._

"A wild fancy came to me as we rode back from Minas Tirith," he murmured. "I thought - what if I could take you with me to Valinor?..."

"Oh, Legolas!.." She began to laugh; then, drawing away to look into his eyes, realised he was only half in jest. "Even if you could build a ship in time to bear these decaying bones, my dearest, and even if there were the remotest chance the Valar would admit me, I could not go. If you, who are Firstborn, hesitate to go from Middle-earth, think how I am bound to it! For I am earth of its earth and dust of its dust..."

"I know, _melethen_. It was only a mad moment." The smile was back in his voice. "Perhaps I will take Gimli. I have persuaded him to sit on a horse and to sleep in trees; how much harder could this be?"

Rowanna threw back her head and laughed aloud, low and musical; and for a moment all the years rolled away, and he laughed with her.

"I heard you laugh like that the first day I ever saw you, galloping along the valley in Imladris. Did I ever tell you? - I was sitting in a tree after the Council, cursing myself for a fool for losing Gollum, and trying to work out how to persuade Elrond to allow me to join the company to go with Frodo. It could be yesterday!"

"I was just thinking how long, long ago it seemed." Rowanna sighed, and leaned against him. "Six score years, my love. Faramir and Éowyn are gone; Éomer King is gone; now Aragorn is gone. And I am weary..."

"Do you wish – ?" He broke off, and she looked up at him, puzzled. "There were things... I could never give you. Children..."

The familiar, slight tightening in her chest at the thought. One of the many arguments that had been employed, after the War, to try to persuade them both to give each other up and forget. He could never beget a child with her, for who could tell whether it would have the life of the Eldar or of Men? And what life for any child, Mortal or Elven, to be abandoned by a father who could no longer resist the call of the Sea and was gone, into the West?

"I told you over a century ago that I would choose one Elf over any number of squalling brats. I never thought that choice a poor one."

"Nothing else?" He was in earnest, looking intently into her face. "Nothing you would do otherwise?"

"Nothing." She locked her fingers tightly with his as she had done so many times. "Nothing, nothing, nothing."

"Not even... that night, after –" he swallowed - "Aragorn and Arwen's wedding, when everything seemed doomed, and we both ran; and took a sun-round to mend our folly?"

"Not even that, in the end," Rowanna said thoughtfully. "For always after that, when things went hard – when the Sea-longing was tearing you nearly in two, or I could not bear the thought of all the ages you'd spend in Aman without me, and wondered if we had chosen aright – I could tell myself; I had tried living without you, and you without me, and it was misery." She brought his knuckles up to her lips and kissed them. "So no, no regrets – not even when you disappeared for weeks on end planting saplings, or filled my house with Dwarves..." The throaty laugh came again.

He chuckled, all the old familiar emotions stirring at the sound of that laughter, and trailed his lips gently down from her ear to her shoulder. "I am glad, _rohiril_ , for it is a little late to repent of it now. Come here..."

The wind roared on outside. Slowly, the candles flickered lower; and by their dying light, ageless Elf and mortal woman made again the choice of six score years.

***

Gimli arose the next morning with the Sun; the wind had died away almost to nothing, and high white clouds drifted in a blue sky. He stretched in the doorway, joints cracking, and made his way out into the sunlight. He expected to find Legolas already abroad, for he had never yet greeted the dawn before the Elf. But there was no sign of him anywhere; and slowly it dawned on Gimli that the house, too, was uncannily silent, with none of the usual morning bustle of Rowanna's activity or her calling instructions to the household.

Meeting no-one but one or two maidservants, who darted timidly away at the sight of him as he searched from room to room, Gimli grew increasingly uneasy. Finally he screwed up his courage, made his way to Legolas and Rowanna's chamber, and when he received no response to his knock, very gently pushed the door open.

Rowanna lay upon the bed pillowed on her own flowing grey hair, utterly still, without breath. Beside her sat Legolas, not taking his eyes from her, his slow tears falling silently on her cold cheek.

The two of them did all that needed to be done that day; Gimli eventually lost his temper with the maidservants, who wept continually, and sent them home to weep there. Together they dug her grave beneath the great copper beech behind the house; together they dressed her in the wine-red velvet dress that Legolas had loved, and lowered her gently into the ground; together they built the cairn. They sat keeping vigil as the sun set, and as the stars wheeled overhead; and for many long, silent days thereafter Gimli watched over his friend.

***

Another day of restless gales blowing from the south-west, carrying with them the high, keening cries of the gulls. Legolas turned his face into the wind, heaved a great breath of its salt tang, and it seemed to Gimli that for the first time something stirred under that frozen mask of grief. He waited. Finally Legolas spoke.

"Gimli: have you ever built a ship?"

_To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,_ __  
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.  
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;  
For our days are ending and our years failing.  
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.

And so singing Legolas went away, and was seen in Ithilien and in Middle-earth no more; and only the wind, the sun and the stars watched over Rowanna's grave.

_The End_

*******

**Author's Notes:**

_levain_ \- animals, fauna

_galas_ \- plants, flora

The verse of Legolas' song at the end is from _Return of the King_ Chapter IV, The Field of Cormallen.


	49. Out of Doubt, Out of Dark, to the Day's Rising

Several long June days went by, while Arwen and Elrond continued to watch and work over Rowanna. Arwen sometimes managed to trickle water or broth into her mouth, as Dirgon had done on the long journey north, to nourish her body at least a little. Her chill and her ragged heartbeat Elrond could treat; but these, he guessed, were only the outward signs of a deeper and less physical ill. Arwen's soft singing and gentle words seemed to reach her, and she would sometimes stir a little at the Evenstar's voice, but no other response came.

Béodred and Dirgon fretted, somewhat astray in this strange place. They could make themselves understood when they needed anything, for most of Master Elrond's folk seemed able to use the Common Speech, and in the stables they were always welcomed cheerfully enough by the grooms, who knew fellow horsemen when they saw them. Yet they felt very much apart; and although one or other of them often sat with Rowanna for part of the day, they were uneasy.

"Master Elrond's healing does not seem to me to be getting us anywhere much!" Béodred muttered to Dirgon in the privacy of their own room. "Oh, I know he seems able to warm her and steady her, but most of the time he just looks! And the Lady Arwen" - he sighed deeply - " she is kind, and very fair, but what does she do? Sings to her!"

Dirgon shook his head, doggedly patient. "Leave it, boy. I reckon they know what they do."

"I hope so!" Béodred heaved another gusty sigh. "Just as I hope we have not done ill to bring her here!"

It was well past midnight on a sultry, sticky night. Thunderclouds rumbling up from the South veiled the stars, and the setting of the sun had brought little relief. Pacing the corridors of the House restlessly in a vain search for a cool corner, Elladan stopped abruptly before Rowanna's door. To his surprise, his sister sat not within, but outside the door as though on guard.

"Arwen! Exiled to the hallway?"

"Father is with Rowanna." Arwen's fingers, Elladan noticed, were compulsively twisting and untwisting a hair-ribbon in her lap. That departure from her usual profound stillness, more than her words, brought him up sharply.

"He sent you out? How long ago?" His voice was as hushed as Arwen's, but his tone was urgent.

"These two hours and more. I offered to stay, to aid him, but he insisted he must work alone and would call me only if there was need."

"He's - trying to bring her back?"

Arwen nodded. Rising from her seat, she paced slowly to and fro.

"You know how it has been with her these last few days. During the day she has had some colour in her cheeks, and seems to sleep naturally; but always after sundown she grows restless, and murmurs, and is deadly cold however warm we keep the room." Over and over went the ribbon in Arwen's fingers. "Father thinks that the black horse she tried to command was no common beast. That it was a creature of Mordor, a servant of... Him. And that since it struck her, though only a glancing blow, Rowanna is tainted by the Shadow."

Elladan grimaced. "I feared as much, when Elrohir first told me the tale. So no healing of the body will suffice. Father must reach into her mind, and do battle with the darkness." Though he lounged with apparent nonchalance against the wall, Elladan bit his lip. "I wish he would have one of us with him..."

"You know what he says." Arwen dropped into her seat again with a sigh, pushing damp locks of black hair back from her brow. "To enter someone's mind is a work far more intimate than to look upon their unclothed body, and therefore he must work in private, unless there is great need to the contrary - "

She broke off, as both caught the faint sound of movement within. Arwen rose, but Elladan was before her, pushing the door soundlessly wider. Elrond stood in the centre of the room. There was weariness in his eyes; yet a smile played about the corners of his mouth.

"Arwen, Elladan. Come in."

"All is well?" Arwen's grey eyes were wide. "Father, you look tired..."

"You should not do these things alone, Father!" Elladan broke in. "What if something went wrong? " Elrond turned on him sharply, frowning.

"You know my reasons well enough, my son. And if you showed any sign of working seriously at the healing arts instead of forever gallivanting off with the Dúnedain, then I might allow you to question my judgement!"

Quelled, Elladan stared at the floor. Arwen, well used to such exchanges and unperturbed by this one, moved towards the bed.

"You reached her, Father?"

"I did." Elrond sighed heavily, moving to the bed's other side and dropping into a chair. "As we thought, daughter, she was far gone, retreated into the very depths of her mind.  And the darkness fencing her in was strong. But she was still there, and she had not yielded. When I told her Dirgon and Béodred had laboured for weeks to save her, and still hoped for her healing, she drew on every ounce of strength she possessed to make her way back to us." He passed a hand wearily over his eyes. "I will confess, children, that I am weary. And Rowanna should not wake the rest of the night. I have left her in deep sleep, for although she is out of danger now, her efforts will have exhausted her. I will go to my rest for a few hours, I think, and so should you."

"I would rather not leave her, Father." Arwen shook her head. "I would hate for her to wake earlier than we expect, in the dark, with no-one by. I can rest here well enough and yet know when she wakes."

"I'm not tired; it's too hot to sleep," Elladan declared, curling himself up cat-like in the window-seat, where he might find some breeze. "I'll watch with you, Sister, and fetch anything you need."

Arwen turned a surprised and grateful gaze on her brother. "That's good. There, you see, Father, you can go to your rest with no fears for your patient. We will see you at dawn."

Elrond rose, touched a finger once more to Rowanna's forehead, and nodded. He leaned over to kiss Arwen's brow. Then, much to her amusement, he crossed the room to do the same for Elladan.

"Thank you, my children. Goodnight." With that the Master of Rivendell moved slowly to the door, and with a last rustle of silken robes was gone. Behind him, Arwen and Elladan smiled across the room at each other, and settled down to wait.

The air grew closer and heavier as the night drew on. Arwen watched Rowanna anxiously; but the dark head on the pillow remained still, with none of the restless tossing and turning of past nights. At last, with a shuddering crash of thunder, the storm broke and the rain came. Elladan heaved a sigh of relief and leaned from the window, turning his face happily up to the downpour. Some minutes later he ducked back in, shaking the drops from his black head, and stretched out again in the window-seat.

"I can feel the air cooling already! Now perhaps for some sleep..." Letting his gaze slide up to the flowing patterns of the carved ceiling, Elladan slipped into dreams.

***

When Elladan next stirred it was to hear the first sounds of birdsong drifting from the forest. Glancing from the window, he saw only the faintest traces of pink and gold tinting the sky in the east. The sun was not yet up, but the room was slowly growing light. Arwen still sat by the bed, head pillowed on her hand. Sliding from his alcove, he moved noiselessly towards the bed; Rowanna had turned in her sleep and lay now on her side, dark hair tumbled all about her. Elladan reached to brush the thick waves back from her face, noting the warm colour in her cheek and the healthy glow of her skin. At his careful touch, she stirred and sighed.

Elladan looked up quickly at his sister; she had roused instantly at the slight sound, and was leaning over the bed.

"I told Father we should not leave her alone," she murmured. "Rowanna? My friend, wake up..."

The woman in the bed half-turned again and muttered something. Her eyelids flickered, then slowly opened. Dark eyes, at first unfocused, blinked once or twice and gradually centred on Arwen, who broke into a delighted smile.

"Good morning!" she said softly. "I'm so glad to see you awake..."

Rowanna's dry lips parted. But her rusty throat could get no words out. Swiftly, Elladan moved to pour water and pass the cup to Arwen, who slid a gentle hand behind Rowanna's head and helped her sip. At first she choked, but as Arwen steadied her, her lips and throat worked more smoothly and she swallowed carefully. Her gaze sharpened and became aware - and confused.

"Wha - where...?"

"Don't be afraid. You are among friends," Arwen assured her, holding her gaze and reading her face. She reached behind Rowanna to pull the pillows forward, raising her a little so that she could look around her. "You have been very ill, but now you've awoken, I know you will soon be well!" She raised the water-cup again; Rowanna drank more this time, which seemed to waken her further. She looked around the room, across at Elladan, and finally back to Arwen with an increasingly puzzled expression.

"Where am I? What is this place?" Her voice was low, and hoarse from disuse.

"You are in the House of Elrond, in Rivendell." 

Rowanna's eyes widened, flickering again between the two children of Elrond with complete bewilderment.

"R-Rivendell? Elrond? Then - you are - _Elves_?.."

"Half-Elves, to be precise," Elladan broke in with a broad grin, moving to sit on the edge of the bed alongside his sister. "This is Arwen, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven, and I am her elder brother Elladan. My miscreant twin is Elrohir, but he doesn't seem to be about at the moment. Have no fear, you'll encounter him soon enough."

"Peace, Elladan!" Arwen's peal of laughter filled the room. "Our poor guest has only just awoken - have some mercy on her and do not over-burden her with introductions all at once! If you wish to be useful, go and send for Father, and tell him Rowanna is awake." As her brother vanished, Arwen, still chuckling, turned back to the bed. "Take no notice of Elladan, Rowanna. There will be all the time in the world to explain who we are, and how you come to be here. All you need do for now is rest, and sleep, and get well."

Rowanna nodded slowly. Yet she was still gazing at the lovely face before her, now lit by the rose glow of the rising sun, as though trying to remember something.

"Arwen?"

"What is it?"

"I remember... singing. In the darkness, a voice that sang to me... a voice like yours, like a cool stream flowing. Did.. did someone sing?"

Arwen reached for her hand among the sheets and squeezed it gently. "Could you hear me? I hoped you could. Yes, I was singing to you. I wanted you to know you were not alone."

Rowanna nodded, as though a small mystery had been solved. "Thank you," she murmured. Hearing the hoarseness still in her voice, Arwen poured more water, and was helping her drink again when there was a sound from the corridor and the door swung wide open.

Rowanna looked up and breathed in sharply. For a moment Arwen saw her father through the mortal woman's eyes: a tall, dark Elf whose air of authority seemed to fill the room before he spoke a word. Rowanna looked at him, and then at Elladan following deferentially a pace behind him, the finely sculpted features of the one mirrored in the other, opened her mouth as if to speak, and then gave up.

"Lady Rowanna. Now that you are awake to receive it, I bid you a most heartfelt welcome to Rivendell, to the Last Homely House. I am Elrond, called Half-Elven." He moved to the bedside and with a brief "May I?" placed long fingers across Rowanna's wrist, and then to her forehead.  After a long moment, he withdrew, and in response to his daughter's anxious look, nodded.

"Good," he said. "You do very well. How do you feel? Are you in any pain?"

_I suspect the poor woman is utterly bewildered, Father,_ Arwen thought, _as well as barely half awake!_

Rowanna, however, managed to croak, "I - no, thank you, Master Elrond, I am comfortable."

"I am very glad to hear it; and now that you have woken, we can begin to nourish you, and build your strength." Elrond nodded to Elladan, who vanished out of the door and could be heard giving instructions in the hallway. "But we must take great care in what we can offer you at first; you have gone some time without solid food, and only gradually will your body reaccustom itself to eating." He moved to the small table under the window, checking the levels of liquid in several small vials which stood there, then turned to his daughter.

"Arwen, my dear, I must ask you to keep Lady Rowanna company at her breakfast, for a good deal of business attends me this morning." Arwen suppressed a smile at the resignation in his tone. _More dispatches from the Dwarves of Dale to deal with?..._ "Our patient can take broth and perhaps a little crushed soft fruit, and thereafter must rest, but she may receive visitors this afternoon if her strength permits. A little of the goldenroot tonic, I think, with each meal." Arwen nodded her agreement. Elrond directed his attention to Rowanna once more, his cool sea-grey gaze washing over her for an instant before he gave her a slight bow.

"I must ask you to pardon me for this morning, my child. I shall greatly look forward to talking longer with you when you are more rested. Until then..."

He turned on his heel and was gone. Rowanna let out a deep breath.

"Are you well?" Arwen enquired gently, offering her another sip of water.

"Y-yes, I think, well enough.." Rowanna coughed, and then recovered herself; "but.. am I really awake, or still dreaming?"

"Awake, I assure you," Arwen's laughter bubbled like a stream. "But what makes you say so?"

"Rivendell… the Last Homely House… they were my childhood fairy tales! The stories Mother passed down from our Northern ancestors… she used to lull me to sleep with accounts of Master Elrond, the great healer, and the house of the Elves in the hidden valley…"

"And now you feel as though you have woken up in the midst of legend?"  Arwen smiled, understanding. "You are far from the first mortal to feel that way, I assure you! Do not worry – all will begin to feel far less strange ere long."

As if to confirm this the next arrival at the door proved to be Elladan, followed by another Elf, both bearing trays with covered jugs and bowls. As they advanced to set their burdens down on either side of the bed, Rowanna glanced up into their faces and became thunderstruck once again, looking from one to the other as though she feared she were seeing double. Arwen caught her bewildered expression, and chuckled.

"Elladan did tell you he was a twin! This is indeed Elladan on your left, whereas this - " she turned to the Elf on the right, who flashed Rowanna a wicked grin - "is my second brother, Elrohir."

"Your servant, _rohíril_." Elrohir sketched an ironic bow.

"You may find you can tell us apart more readily by hearing than by sight," Elladan put in helpfully. "Elrohir drawls –"

"I do not!"

"–  and my voice is generally held to be deeper," Elladan finished, cheerfully ignoring his twin.

"M-my name is Rowanna," the mortal woman protested faintly, "not _Roh_ _í_ _ril_ …"

"Rowanna your name may be, but a _rohíril_ you undoubtedly are, in my tongue," Elrohir countered. "From what I am told of your exploits and talents, madam, never was a horse-lady more truly titled - and I should know, for I am named for a horse-lord myself!"

"Enough nonsense, the pair of you," Arwen said firmly. "Rowanna, take no notice, they are always thus, I fear – now, let us see if you can stomach a little of this."

To begin with Arwen carefully spooned the _nestadren_ broth, made up to Elrond's precise instructions, into Rowanna's mouth; after a few mouthfuls, however, Rowanna took over the spoon herself.

"Take care, and do not try to eat too much yet," Arwen warned her. "You have had no solid food for some weeks -"

"Weeks?" Rowanna stopped dead with the spoon halfway to her mouth, her face full of shock. _Oh, you fool,_ Arwen castigated herself. _You do not think – do not frighten her!_  "For some time, at any rate," she amended hastily. "Now - Father instructed me to give you a tonic; here we are..."

For the remainder of that day, Rowanna dozed and woke by turns. Arwen did not leave her side, and during her waking hours talked gently of Rivendell, its folk and its surroundings, so that Rowanna might feel less bewildered and astray. Each time Rowanna awoke, she seemed to have pieced together a little more of the world around her, and asked more pertinent questions: how had she come here? How long had she been out of her senses? Arwen's gentle answers drew her slowly back into the present. It was Béodred and Dirgon who had brought her, over many leagues and many days. She had been asleep all that time, and for some time before that. Arwen and Elrond had watched over her, and Elrond had succeeded in healing her sickness. And at last -

"Arwen - what happened to me?"

The daughter of Elrond sighed. Her clear, honest gaze searched Rowanna's face carefully. "You remember nothing?" Rowanna shook her head. "What is the last thing you recall?"

"The - the farmstead. Working with Aelstan - Béodred's uncle - and our horses, as usual." She frowned and bit her lip. Cautiously, Arwen prompted:

"There was an accident, with a horse astray. Do you remember that?"

Gradually, Rowanna traced a path back through memory as far as the muster on that fateful day. She recalled riding out, and why they had done it; but beyond that her recollections petered out, a stream vanishing into sand.

"Fear not," Arwen comforted her. "You will remember gradually. Each time you wake I think you are a little more yourself." Rowanna gave a throaty chuckle. "That's a glad sound!" Elrond's daughter smiled. "But what is amusing?"

"I was wondering how," her mortal companion demanded, "you would know what might constitute being more myself, since this is the first day you have been in my company while I've been in my senses?"

"A good question!" Arwen acknowledged, laughing in her turn. "But you are not such a stranger as you think, my dear. Many hours I have watched over you in your sleep, and Elves do not keep vigil idly. Besides, Béodred has told us much of you!"

"Béodred!" Rowanna exclaimed. "Poor lad, he must have been frantic! I still cannot take in what he and Dirgon did for me. To bear me for hundreds of leagues with little idea of whether they would ever find the place they sought, and all for my mother's urging! Do they know I am awake?"

"Elrohir took the news to them straight after breakfast, I believe. They are waiting till you feel well enough to receive visitors - shall we send for them?"

Rowanna's rich chuckle came again. "I think it is the least we can do after all their efforts! Will you help me sit up to receive them?"

Arwen obliged. "Would you like to wash your face?" she enquired, proffering a basin. Rowanna sighed with relief.

"Yes please – and do you have a comb?"

"I can find one.  Do you want a mirror too?"

"Oh – no, worry not for that. I just want to be clean and free of tangles!"

Rowanna washed her face gratefully, before Arwen carefully combed out her dark hair for her.

"It's beautifully thick," she observed admiringly as it flowed between her fingers. "I thought to begin with it was blue-black, like a Dúnadan's –" she smiled for a moment – "but here where the sunlight's catching it, see, there are tints that are almost red. There we are..." Smoothing out the last tangles, she braided it loosely behind Rowanna's head, plumped up her guest's pillows, and when satisfied with her, went to the door to call for Béodred and Dirgon.

Béodred appeared in the doorway so quickly that Arwen strongly suspected he had been lurking hopefully in the hallway for some time. Furthermore, he was spick and span in what she thought must be a borrowed shirt, dark green with tendrils of embroidery about the neck and cuffs. As his eyes fell on Rowanna, his face took fire until it could almost have warmed the room. _  
_

_Ah,_ noted Arwen, _I thought as much. But I wonder how your lady feels towards her faithful protector?_ She retreated towards the door, wondering if she should let the two be private, but had not got to the threshold when Rowanna called from the bed for her to stay. _Well, my friend, I think perhaps you answer my question already!_ She curled herself into the window-seat instead, observing the Rider's hesitant approach. _A great blond giant of a horse-lord, suddenly as gauche as a colt that can barely manage its long limbs! Ai, poor lad indeed..._

"Rowanna!" he murmured. "H-how are you?"

"Lord Elrond tells me I am doing very well, Béodred, and it is all thanks to you, my friend. I can scarcely believe that you and Dirgon brought me on horseback all the way from Edoras! Let alone how you knew the way. Tell me of the journey! I still barely understand how I got here..."

_Hardly a lover's greeting,_ Arwen mused as the two talked. What the mortals' true ages were she did not know, but it seemed as she watched them that Rowanna treated Béodred with the familiar and slightly indulgent affection she might have shown a younger brother or cousin. _And I do not think cousinly affection is what he would have from you, Rowanna. But I think also that you know that all too well, and are quite able to deal with Béodred even from a sickbed!_ Before she could reflect further on these speculations, however, Dirgon was standing shyly in the doorway, and had to be gently urged to enter and receive Rowanna's heartfelt thanks in his turn, blushing at being thus the focus of attention.

After Dirgon and Béodred had departed Elrond himself returned, his business done, to inspect his patient. Arwen was pleased to see that Rowanna had gathered sufficient of her wits by now to be a little less amazed by the Master of Rivendell. He carefully established just how much of the cause of her grave illness his guest could remember. While assuring her that he believed her fully healed, he insisted that it would take some time to regain her strength, and that she must remain in the Last Homely House at the very least for some weeks.

"We can consider in a few days how we may send word to your mother at Edoras of your recovery," he suggested, forestalling Rowanna's protests. "In the meantime, you must rest; you will probably find that you sleep a great deal for several days, and that will be all to the good. In particular, my child, I wish to know at once if you are troubled by nightmares, or by waking dreams of any kind."

"I've never had bad dreams in my life, Master Elrond," Rowanna protested; "I just drop on my pillow and sleep like a log! But –" as Elrond raised an eyebrow – "if that changes, I will tell you, I promise."

Content, Elrond took his leave, and Arwen made sure that her friend had all she needed before going to her own rest.

"I will be in the next room," she assured Rowanna, "and will know at once if you wake or need anything - Elves have keen ears, and Half-elves too! So have no fear, and sleep well."

Rowanna lay awake for some minutes, gazing at the patterns of the vaulted ceiling; _and so she might,_ reflected Arwen, _with all that she must be trying to make sense of from the day!_  So weary was she, however, that she did not hold out long before slipping once more into deep, untroubled sleep. Arwen noted this with a pleased glance from her doorway, and went to her own bed, leaving the glow of one small lantern to hold back the shadows in the corners of the room.

*******

**Author's notes:**

Elrond's healing of Rowanna's mind was partly inspired by Elrohir's fetching of Hethlin from the Grey Lands in Isabeau of Greenlea's [_Captain my Captain_](http://www.tolkienfanfiction.com/Story_Read_Head.php?STid=663). I also drew on the effect of the Shadow on Merry and Eowyn after the battle of the Pelennor in RoTK, and on Aragorn's healing of Faramir and his calling of Eowyn back from the dead.

The nickname with which Elrohir dubs Rowanna, _rohíril_ , literally means "horse-lady" in Sindarin, as _rohir_ means "horse-lord" ( _híril_ being the feminine of _hîr_ , according to the Appendix to the 1977 edition of the Silmarillion). According to JRRT''s _Letters_ , Elrohir translates "Elven-knight" (literally, "Elven-horse-lord) ( _El_ plus _rohir_ ).

Goldenroot _(_ _Rhodiola rosea_ ) is a herb which has traditionally been used to treat depression and anxiety as well as to reduce fatigue.

_Nestadren_ \- healing.


	50. Acknowledgements and sources

A fic this long doesn't get written (at least, not by me), without a lot of different sources for research, and a lot of discussion and beta help.

**Main research sources** (as well as _LoTR_ itself, obviously) included:

The _Silmarillion_ and the _Unfinished Tales_ , the latter particularly for discussion of the history of the Silvan Elves and for the Battles of the Fords of Isen.

Barbara Strachey's _Journeys of Frodo_ (Ballantine, 1981) for its detailed maps and commentary.

The [HASA Resources](http://astele.co.uk/resources/) section, which saved me from having to go and comb through _HoME_ and the _LoTR_ Appendices numerous times - thank you to all its contributors.

The [_Encyclopedia of Arda_](http://www.glyphweb.com/ARDA/) for numerous quick fact-checks, maps and its calendar converter.

[_Hisweloke_](http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/) (the Sindarin Dictionary Project) and [_Ardalambion_](http://folk.uib.no/hnohf/) for help with Sindarin vocabulary and grammar respectively, plus the [Sindarin Names Generator](http://elffetish.com/SindaFrame1.php) and [Male](http://www.20000-names.com/male_anglo_saxon_names.htm) and [Female Anglo-Saxon Names](http://www.20000-names.com/female_anglo_saxon_names.htm) sites.

The wonderful [Middle-earth Travel Times](http://www.theoriginalseries.com/traveltimes.htm) page was invaluable numerous times for ensuring I wasn't indulging in Peter Jackson-style Magic!Distance and was making my characters take an appropriate number of days to cover the miles.

**Discussion and speculation:**

I've pestered the [Henneth-Annun mailing list ](http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Henneth_Annun/)with everything from the logistics of crossing the High Pass in early spring with horses to likely casualties from the Black Gate, and a thousand details in between, and can't thank my fellow Henneth-Annuniacs enough for their willingness to pitch in, research and discuss.

Since a number of chapters turned on dealing with horses and their behaviour, I was particularly grateful for the help of, at various stages, Sulriel, Erin, Karri, Jillan and LoH on those aspects.

**Beta, comments and support:**

Heartfelt thanks to: Forodwaith, Anglachel, Firerose and LoTR_lover for encouragement in the early stages, and Alon for beta-ing several of the early chapters (and Maia for later beta of the reworked versions); Drummerwench, rinlossien, curiouswombat and Erulisse for reading and commenting later on; and above all, Altariel and Julie, who read, gave concrit and supported from the beginning all the way to the end.


	51. Long was the Way that Fate Them Bore

_I wonder if I was right to press her so hard to come up with us for mettarë,_ Miranna mused unhappily as she watched her daughter. Rowanna was curled in a window-seat in Ithildîs's ballroom; as the exquisite sounds of one of Gondor's finest harpists entertained the guests, she was resting her head on the window's frame, one hand drawing aside the edge of the heavy blue velvet drape, and Miranna suspected her thoughts were very far away. _If I had known how much returning to the White City would pain her..._  
  
It was not in her daughter's nature to pity herself or to collapse in floods of public tears - her pride was too much of a force for that - and she had made conversation with the young midshipman furnished by Ithildîs as her escort cheerfully enough; but now that she thought herself unobserved, the hunching of Rowanna's shoulders and her averted gaze made her mother's heart ache. _Oh heavens, and now that young man is steering a course straight for her,_ thought Míranna as she caught sight of the midshipman making his way purposefully around the edge of the room. Fortunately, looking around she crossed glances with Adramir, and flicked her head urgently in the would-be suitor's direction; catching her meaning at once, Adramir intercepted him neatly, and with a hand on his elbow steered him away towards a waiter and another goblet of wine. _Bless his tact,_ Míranna reflected gratefully; _how such a kindly and sensible man managed to marry a humourless snob like Ithildîs I shall never understand._  
  
Feeling a touch on her own arm, she turned to find one of the Minas Tirith matrons for whom she had been embroidering a gown, and was drawn into a lively discussion of the latest, allegedly Elven influences on the White City's costume. _Thank goodness Rowanna can't hear this,_ she winced inwardly; quite apart from her daughter's disdain for fashions in dress, conversations which turned to anything regarding the Firstborn – as just now a good many discussions in Minas Tirith's higher society did – were wont to cause Rowanna to flee the room as soon as she could unobtrusively get away. By the time Míranna was at leisure to turn her gaze on the window-alcove again, Rowanna had vanished.  
  
Adramir appeared at her elbow and offered her a fresh glass, which Míranna gratefully accepted.  
  
"Has she left us, then?"  
  
"I suspect so," Míranna sighed. "You know what a strain these public occasions are for her just now – I should probably be grateful that she agreed to come down at all..." She took a long sip at her wine. "Half the problem is that she lacks occupation. When we were back in Rohan she had a craft that she loved, skills that were respected, she worked hard. And now – she broods, she frets, and unsurprisingly she cannot shake off all that happened last summer..."  
  
"Nothing came of my lord Imrahil's stud in Dol Amroth, then?" Adramir enquired. "I thought perhaps after he wrote her the recommendation to his Master of Horse..."  
  
"I am not sure that helped, Adramir, in truth." Míranna grimaced. "With hindsight, it perhaps gave the stablemaster the impression that Rowanna was just an aristocrat with the Prince's favour who wished to play at horse-training. Oh, he could see that she was skilled, but the home of the Swan Knights hardly lacks for breeders and trainers! He was prepared to let her dabble, but any real work or authority... Free-spirited though Dol Amroth may be in comparison to Minas Tirith, it is still Gondor, and it is apparently still not seemly for a young woman of means and good name to carry out much function beyond the merely decorative."  
  
Adramir nodded. "You may be right; Rowanna, you'll admit, hardly fits any of the – conventional – expectations of womanhood here. Which may be all to the good –" he lifted an eyebrow at her – "but makes her position no easier, I fear. The obvious path for a woman of her years and situation would, of course, be marriage, but..."  
  
"Well, quite," Míranna responded dryly. "If you wish to propose it to her, you are braver than I!" She turned to give her glass to one of the waiting-staff as he passed by. "I was fond of Legolas, truly; he was courteous, and fair, and kind. But as things are I could honestly wish that Rowanna had never set eyes on him."  
  
***  
  
Thranduil brought his mount neatly to a halt at the edge of the clearing with a smile of satisfaction on his face, watching his own breath cloud in the crisp air. The afternoon's deer-hunt had been a success, and now a fine stag was being trussed to a pole to be carried back for that evening's feast.  
  
Legolas had dismounted along with a number of the other Elves to slap Cúvaed on the back and congratulate her on a fine shot, in spite of the low sun slanting through the trees across her vision, and a clean kill. Now, laughing with Taurlaegel and Falastir, he vaulted easily once more onto the back of the spirited little grey he had brought from the South, having left his favourite chestnut, Culagor, resting a sprain. _He does seem happier,_ Thranduil reflected with relief. _Something of his old joy, his lightness of heart...and now that Stirring is turning to Spring, and the forest will soon be once again new-leaved and fair, perhaps we will hear no more of this mad idea of leaving for Ithilien –_  
  
"Legolas?" Taurlaegel's voice, sharp with alarm, cut through the Elven-king's musings. _"Sire!"_ But Thranduil was already dismounted and racing across the clearing to where his son was suddenly doubled up over Arod's neck, clutching his mount's mane as Thranduil had not seen him do since he was an Elfling on his first pony, and gasping for breath. Halfway there, even as the King braced himself, it came; the great wave of longing and pain breaking over Legolas, the crashing of surf, the salt smell. He felt the power of the tide taking hold of his son, pulling him away –  
  
"Legolas!" He got to Arod's side at last, reached up to grasp his son's hands. "Legolas, 'tis I, your father, do you hear me?..." He was vaguely aware of Falastir waving away Elves who began to crowd curiously around, and Taurlaegel calling back a few who, convinced their prince must have been shot, were about to start combing the woods in search of a hostile bowman. After a long moment Legolas raised his head; Thranduil tightened his grip, and his son's clouded gaze slowly cleared, though his breath still came shallow and ragged.  
  
"How is it, my son? Can you ride?" he asked softly.  
  
"I... yes, I think so." Legolas blinked, heaved one deep breath, and sat straight once again on Arod's back. The well-schooled grey, sensing his rider's distress, was standing stock still, merely huffing anxiously from time to time.  
  
"Good. Very well then; with me." Thranduil turned to take his roan mare from the Elf who was holding her head, and nodded to Taurlaegel and Falastir who still waited protectively on either side. "You two follow. And get the stag brought along behind; the kitchens will be glad to see him!"  
  
He saw Legolas to his chambers, called for spiced wine and made sure the fire was built up. Only once they were alone did he turn to his son, who was curled in a chair close to the hearth, gazing into the flames.  
  
"Has it... passed?"  
  
"For now." Legolas shivered, and took a long draught of his wine. "Forgive me, Father, I did not mean to alarm you, or the company..."  
  
"Believe me, my son, I know all too well this is no choice of yours," Thranduil sighed. "That was worse than the last time, was it not? Is it often so... overpowering?"  
  
Legolas shook his head. "Much of the time it is little more than a distant ache, a faint sense of something missing, far away. But I think when the tide does rise, the pain is the worse for being so far from the Sea; for knowing that were I to ride at the gallop for a moon-round and more, I could not come to the shore..."  
  
"I knew, when you returned, the moment I saw you," his father said sadly; "it was there in your eyes, in your very soul. I hoped that here, in the Greenwood of your birth, under tree and leaf –"  
  
"I know, Father. And I am sorry." Legolas lifted his chin and looked Thranduil steadily in the eye. "But you see it yourself; no peace will I have again under beech or elm, not here, so far from any shore, so far even from Anduin which flows to the ocean. I have lived all my _yeni_ as an Elf of the Wood, and yet – in the end, it seems, my fate is the fate of the Grey-elves, and my path is to the Sea. I know not when – but go I must, one day. And... I would wish to go with your good will."  
  
He dropped gracefully from the chair on to one knee in front of Thranduil. Blinking back tears, the Elven-king laid both hands gently upon his son's head.  
  
"If the Powers declare this is your part in the Song, then so it must be," he said hoarsely. "And let it not be said that ever you fared forth from these halls without my blessing. Elbereth guide you, guard and protect you, my son," he kissed Legolas solemnly on the left cheek, right cheek, and finally on the brow, "to the end of the world."  
  
They were very still for a long moment.  
  
"And now," said Thranduil at last, "if you feel strong enough, I suggest you get yourself bathed, find something fit to be seen in, and we both make ready to find out what the kitchens have been able to do with that stag – otherwise Cúvaed will never forgive either of us!" He drew his son to his feet, was rewarded with the beginnings of a smile, and pulled the door quietly closed behind him. Only when he was halfway to his own chambers did he remember the other question he had intended to ask Legolas; the identity of the laughing dark-haired woman whose presence he had briefly glimpsed, beyond the Sea-longing, in the depths of his son's heart.  
  
***  
  
 _...will await word from you and assure you as ever of my friendship and regard,  
  
Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, by his own hand this 9th Nárië 3020._  
  
Faramir signed the parchment with a flourish, just as Éowyn tapped at the half-open door of his study and came in.  
  
"Dinner will be ready shortly, my love – Eirien has been roasting lamb, it smells marvellous." She dropped into an armchair across from the Steward with a heavy sigh. "And my stomach seems to have settled since this morning, so I may actually manage to eat some!"  
  
"You're still looking weary," her husband observed with some concern. "Are you sure you don't wish to go to bed, and I'll have dinner sent up?"  
  
Éowyn shook her head. "Truly, I am well. And I was in bed half the morning! Have you finished for tonight?"  
  
"All that can't wait," Faramir assured her. "And I have written to Rowanna, as we agreed." He lit the candle on the corner of his desk, rolled the parchment he had been writing on deftly, and held a stick of sealing-wax over the flame. "That is, if you are still content with the suggestion?"  
  
"Quite content." Éowyn pushed damp hair back from her brow. "You were right, it is an excellent idea, and I hope she'll accept. Besides, the last news I had of her, through Arwen, suggested she was restless in Dol Amroth and lacking in purpose – and that is no state for a woman like Rowanna."  
  
"Or yourself?" teased her husband gently, pressing his seal-ring firmly into the melted wax he had carefully dripped on the parchment and looking up.  
  
"I suspect I shall be discovering a whole new purpose in life in the coming months whether I like it or not!" Éowyn retorted. Faramir got up, came around the desk to her and perched on the arm of her chair to kiss the top of her head.  
  
"Then we had better fortify you in readiness," he chuckled, and offered a hand to draw her to her feet. "Dinner, milady!"  
  
"Have you spoken to Aragorn about it?" Éowyn enquired as they made their way through to Emyn Arnen's dining-room. Faramir shook his head.  
  
"I'd rather have Rowanna's views on how we should begin, and where, before I put it to the King – otherwise he'll only ask questions for which I shall have no answers. I know in principle he'll be in agreement." He drew out his wife's chair for her and took his own seat across the table. "Now we'd better hope Rowanna will say yes!"  
  
***  
  
"Cousin Rowanna! Look!" Little Halmir came galloping into the sitting-room where Rowanna and her mother were keeping Almiel company. "Look what Papa brought me!" He was astride a new hobby-horse, and he pulled proudly up in front of the window-seat with cries of _Whoaaah!_ "Isn't he fine?"  
  
"Splendid," Rowanna smiled somewhat wearily. "A Dol Amroth grey – you'll be a true Swan Knight!"  
  
Halmir cantered several times around the couch where Almiel sat propped up, neighing and snorting enthusiastically until his mother, laughing, ordered him to go and be a Swan Knight out in the courtyard. He turned back to Rowanna.  
  
"Come too, cousin? Please? Darathor and Penbarad and me want to hear more about all your horses in Rohan..."  
  
"Oh, all right." Rowanna tousled the child's hair.  
  
"Really, Halmir," Almiel protested, "you mustn't pester Rowanna so –"  
  
"It doesn't matter, Almiel," Rowanna sighed as the child galloped ahead of her out of the room. "It's not as though I have anything else to do..."  
  
"That's true enough," Almiel reflected wryly when they had gone, reaching for her writing-tablet from the small side-table. "For my horse-mad boys having such a story-teller always to hand is a great treat, and yet –"  
  
"– it is no way for her to be frittering away her life," Míranna agreed as she rethreaded her needle. "Believe me, Almiel, if you had known her before... what happened, you'd know how out of character it is for her to be docilely led by the nose by a five-year-old! She has so little life in her, nothing of the spark of old – the Rowanna I knew would never have been about the house all day!"  
  
"She's seemed more melancholic still since she came back from Rohan after the winter," Almiel observed as she began a list for the housekeeper. "She must have had some hope that she could go back to farming with – Aelstan, was it?"  
  
"I think it was never more than a faint hope," Míranna sighed. "She said as much to me when she returned – that she already knew in her heart how far she had left the Mark and the old life behind; but Aelstan asked her, and she agreed to visit, more I think because she knew not what else to do with herself. But seeing the farm restored and running so smoothly without her, and Béodred wed to Merith and their first child on the way, and set to inherit the steading from his uncle... well, I think it was very clear to her there was no place for her there." She broke off as the sound of booted feet rang out in the hall; a moment later, Pennastir strode into the room shrugging off his jerkin.  
  
"It's growing warm for _Nárië_!" he observed as he kissed his wife and bowed swiftly to Míranna. "How fare you, ladies? I come bearing dispatches, for there's a courier down from Minas Tirith; I met him coming up the street. For you, Míranna –" he passed her two parchments – "and I left another with Rowanna in the courtyard. With the Steward's own seal on it, unless I'm much mistaken..."  
  
"That might be from Lady Éowyn," Míranna speculated as she drew her needle steadily in and out of the silk stretched across her embroidery frame. "She does write from time to time –"  
  
She got no further, though, before Rowanna strode into the room, excited children in her wake, her eyes sparkling.  
  
"Mother – a letter from Faramir! You'll never guess what he proposes! He wants to start breeding horses, to replenish Minas Tirith's bloodlines instead of always having to buy from Rohan or Dol Amroth when the King's stables need new mounts, and – he wants me to do it for him!" She waved the letter at Míranna, cheeks flushed with excitement. "He wants me to go up there and look at the land around Emyn Arnen, and advise where he might best establish a stud farm, and if I am willing – to take charge of it for him! Look!" She dropped the letter into Míranna's lap, hugging herself with delight. Míranna scanned it quickly.  
  
"He sounds serious, does he not?" she noted. "Will you write back and tell him you will consider it?"  
  
"I'll do better than that," retorted Rowanna, grinning. "If you'll excuse me, Almiel, Cousin Pennastir – I'm going to go and pack!"  
  
***  
  
Aragorn strode down the steps of the White Tower, smiling broadly, as a clatter of hooves rang out in the courtyard; a moment later, Legolas had vaulted down from Arod's back. They embraced long and tightly; at last, Aragorn stepped back, hands still on the Elf's shoulders, and scrutinised him carefully.  
  
"Well met, my dear friend," he said at last in the Grey Tongue, "and welcome back to the White City. How fare you?"  
  
"Well," said Legolas, with a half-smile. Aragorn frowned.  
  
"And in truth?... "  
  
"In truth... I will tell you later. Let me stable Arod first."  
  
"Come up to Arwen's sitting-room when you're done," the King agreed. "I know she wants to see you."  
  
They sat late after dining privately in the King's chambers, nursing glasses of wine, the windows open to the spring breezes. Aragorn asked about the Greenwood, about Thranduil and Celeborn's restorations, about the rebuilding of Dale following the battles there, on all of which Legolas was happy to discourse. Arwen sat listening, embroidery in her lap, occasionally putting in a pertinent question or two. The King tried, obliquely, referring to Rowanna and the events of the previous midsummer; the Elf said blankly, "I do not wish to speak of it, Aragorn," and changed the subject. Discussion moved on to the plans for the surveying and restoration of Ithilien.  
  
"I'm sorry Faramir can't be here," Aragorn commented, "for I know the two of you have debated a good deal already. He's out at Emyn Arnen – you knew that he intended to build a summer house there for Éowyn? It's habitable, though not finished yet, and he's taken her out to begin settling in." He took a draught of his Dorwinion. "Next time a messenger goes to the Greenwood, by the way, we must let your father know that his wedding-gift is, as he said, just coming to perfection now – except for the barrels he instructed us to lay down for a twelve-year's time, of course! So... have you and Faramir any sense yet of how long it may be, to cleanse Ithilien entirely of Sauron's depredations?"  
  
"As I told Faramir – last summer," said Legolas with only the slightest catch in his voice, "I do poorly at reckoning such things in Mortal timespans – and Treebeard, who gave me much wisdom on my way back North, is even worse in that respect, since to him the longest-lived of Elves is but a sapling! A lifetime of Men should see all well on the way, but..." He swallowed. "Whether I shall last out that time, I cannot say."  
  
Arwen put down her embroidery, reached across and squeezed his hand.  
  
"It is a strange, new feeling, is it not," she said gently, "not to know when one will depart this world? Perhaps... perhaps one who lives with the Sea-longing may begin to understand, a little, how Men live with the ever-present possibility of receiving their Gift. If it comforts you, Legolas, remember this: strange though it is to us, Men live all their lives with the certainty of loss, and the uncertainty of when the grief will come. And they are joyful nonetheless."  
  
She held his gaze for a long moment. Then Aragorn got up to refill their glasses, and the conversation turned to other things; but Legolas sat long into the night at his window, gazing unseeing at the stars, with the Queen's words going round in his mind.

*******

  
**Author's Notes:**

_Cúvaed_ = bow-skilled.

9 _Nárië_ (Steward's Reckoning): 31st May.


End file.
